


they say before you start a war, you better know what you're fighting for

by inanotheruniverse



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, been trying to finish this one since forever maybe third time's a charm, loosely based from descendants of the sun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2020-03-26 19:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19012330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inanotheruniverse/pseuds/inanotheruniverse
Summary: Captain Tobin Heath meets Doctor Christen Press on a Wednesday, with the sky overcast and Christen’s fingers pressing in on Second Lieutenant Emily Sonnett’s aching abdomen.





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> happy tobin day, guys! been trying to work on something else, but it isn't just coming along, so i decided to drop it for a while and work on this one instead.
> 
> (it's loosely based on a series called descendants of the sun, so for those of you who have seen it, some scenes might be familiar.)
> 
> let me know what you guys think! hmu @ geekmythologys.tumblr.com

Captain Tobin Heath meets Doctor Christen Press on a Wednesday, with the sky overcast and Christen’s fingers pressing in on Second Lieutenant Emily Sonnett’s aching abdomen.

She had driven Emily from Oaks and straight to Providence Presbyterian’s Emergency Bay, after the younger woman had slumped over the shooting game’s counter, clutching her right side.

(And Emily had told her that she’s _not_ kidding—that she’s not even acting—for maybe fifty dozen times.)

“Only you would get sick while we’re on break,” Tobin tells her as soon as the nurse steps out, leaving them with instructions of waiting for the doctor.

Her worry is masked by a chuckle, that turns into a laugh at the wordless glare that Emily sends her way.

“And right when we were about to beat the high score too!” Tobin _tsks_ , playful. “I really wanted that soccer ball plush.”

“I’m so glad to know what your priorities are,” snipes Emily; barely curbs the edge to kick the smirk off of her friend’s face.

(Her _Tobin_ tolerance is already running low to start with, much less now that she’s short of shrieking in pain.

Preferably on the other woman’s ears till they bleed.)

Tobin darts a hand out, patting Emily on the knee closest to her as she feigns pity. “I’ll just ask the doctor for your appendix in exchange. In a glass container, or _oooh_ , those tiny mason jars.”

The younger woman’s face twists in repulsion. She bends the knee, shaking Tobin’s hand off. “Why are you so weird?”

“Morbidly curious. There’s a huge difference.”

As Emily opens her mouth for a retort, the white curtain gets pushed to the side, revealing a doctor in a white coat and royal blue scrubs.

Her long black hair is bundled into a neat tie, smooth tips falling past her shoulders; yet the few curled locks that escaped perfectly frames the prettiest green eyes Tobin has ever seen.

But it’s the doctor’s gentle voice that has Tobin gripping Emily’s knee back, _and_ a little too tightly. “Hi, I’m Doctor Christen Press.”

And _her_ smile that makes Tobin’s own knees buckle.

Seeing Emily’s wince, Doctor Press sets the chart she’s poring over down on the nearest side table, moving closer to the other woman.

Tobin shuffles to stand by the head of her friend’s hospital bed, right where her keen eyes can watch the way Doctor Press’ hands hover at the hem of Emily’s white shirt. Though, Tobin isn’t sure if it’s out of uncertainty or she’s simply waiting for permission.

At this, Tobin feels her eyes narrow as she takes a good long look at Doctor Press, who honestly seems to be incredibly too young to be a fully licensed doctor. And now she’s starting to second guess her decision of bringing her friend here instead of driving straight back to their base.

(The doctor is beautiful, _yes_ , but she’s been friends with Emily since their basic training days, and _that_ just takes precedence.)

“I need to lift your shirt a little, is that okay?”

Emily nods her consent, eyes screwing shut in embarrassment when Tobin jumps in from beside her. “You kinda look too young to be a doctor.”

She tips her head back—as much as lying on a hospital bed would allow—and sends the other woman a scowl that pretty much screams _I’m going to kill you after all of this is over._

The doctor, for her part, only flashes Tobin a polite smile, then says, “I get that a lot.”

She flattens the tips of her fingers on Emily’s right abdomen, and right away, her patient yelps. Christen nods, mentally taking notes.

In turn, Tobin’s skepticism only grows.

“On a scale of one to ten, how’s the pain?”

“Five,” Emily barely suppresses a grumble.

“She’s lying,” Tobin spills, and then snickers at the annoyance that settles on her friend’s face. “In _Emily-speak_ , that’s a definite ten. A twelve, really, if I’m being honest.”

“Thank you for that,” Christen replies. But it’s punctuated by a tone that somehow makes Tobin feel like she’s being dismissed.

Christen moves her fingers a little more to the side, at the spot where Emily’s back meets her hip. And Tobin’s face pulls into a grimace as her friend lets out another low growl, “ _Fuck_.”

The doctor’s lips curve into an apology that she casts at Emily’s direction. “I’m sorry, but we need to watch out for any tenderness—”

Emily grits her teeth, reigning the pain in. But her face crumples a little too much, her jaw grinding a little too hard that Tobin can’t help but jump to her rescue.

“Uh, with all due respect Doctor,” she starts, pausing until Christen lifts her gaze to meet hers. “But don’t you think you’ve pressed enough for her stomach to be _actually_ tender?”

“ _Tobin_ ,” Emily hisses, and _shit_ , she just wants the bed to swallow her whole.

Tobin then bends to whisper in Emily’s ear. “Shouldn’t they let resident doctors handle your case at least? Not interns?”

Three things then happen all at once:

Doctor Press’ neck pulls rigidly to her right, her face taut and a brow arching in disbelief (that Tobin may or may not somewhat hate when she sneaks a glance because, _shit_ , how can _that_ be so hot). Her mouth purses _tight_ , clearly offended at Tobin’s _audacity_.

Emily covers her face with the hand that’s not clutching the white sheet for her dear life, muttering _Oh my fucking God_ under her breath over and over.

Tobin pulls back in surprise. Her nose scrunches, realizing that the words came out louder than she intended.

Blood quickly rushes to the tips of her ears. “Not that I mean anything bad about it—” she hurries to explain. “Just that, you know—”

Emily latches onto the hand closest to her reach, nails digging in on Tobin’s skin.

A whimper escapes from Tobin’s throat as she tries to pry Emily’s fingers away; but they only seem to claw themselves deeper.

While Christen’s jaw just clenches and unclenches, still at a loss for words. And when she finally finds the right ones she’d like to hurl at this woman with the prettiest smile plastered on an unfairly gorgeous face, she opens her mouth to speak. Yet, her sense of professionalism wins over, and it lets the colorful words trickle down into a strained sound that gets stuck in her throat.

Instead, she turns around and opts to call for a nurse, quietly asking her to _take her patient down for a quick ultrasound_ _and_ _book OR three_ right away. When she returns her attention back to Emily, she stands ramrod straight, pocketing both her hands inside her white coat.

It’s the most serious she’s looked since she stepped inside Emily’s bay. And as she speaks, she only addresses Emily, ignoring the woman standing next to her. “From my initial assessment, your appendix hasn’t ruptured yet. But given that you’re experiencing severe pain, we’ll need to take it out.”

Tobin leans to her side, making sure that she’s in Doctor Press’ line of vision. “Are you the one doing the surgery? How long is it gonna take?”

“I am not at liberty to divulge anything related to the surgery to non-relatives,” Christen snips, her tone biting. Though, her eyes never leave Emily.

“Oh, sorry _?_ ”

“I’ll see you in OR three, okay?” Christen presses on, as if she hasn’t heard anything; tacks on a smile that is for her patient and her patient alone. She pushes the curtains open and signals for another doctor to step in. “By the way, this is _my_ resident, Doctor Mallory Pugh.”

Tobin blinks a couple of times, swallowing visibly at the way Christen accentuates _my_.

“She’ll help prep you for the surgery. And if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask her.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Emily says. She lifts a hand and playfully salutes at her.

Christen rolls her eyes—in good-nature, with the cheeky look on Emily’s face making her chuckle—then pats Doctor Pugh encouragingly on the shoulder before turning to leave.

Tobin’s gaze trails the doctor’s back until she disappears from their sight. Then, with a frown, she turns to her friend. “I don’t think she likes me.”

Emily tilts her head, eyes narrowing threateningly. “If she leaves a huge clamp inside me, I’m petitioning to drop you in the middle of the fucking Sahara.”

…

 

 

Thirty-four minutes and five coffee cups after Emily has been rolled into surgery, Tobin sees Doctor Christen Press again, stepping out of the OR suite and into the Nurses Station situated conveniently in the middle of the hallway.

Tobin is patiently sitting at the waiting area when she sees her, buzzing with nervous energy as she switches between watching people pass by and glancing at the digital clock hanging on the wall opposite her seat.

She spots the doctor easily—though the paw prints that adorn her light blue scrub cap adds to that—and walks to meet Doctor Press, who’s now busy talking to another doctor that just stopped by the same station.

The new comer, Tobin notes, has lollipops sticking out of her scrub top’s chest pocket, and the baby hairs sticking out and all over her forehead makes her look even younger than Doctor Press.

Her face, _though_ , Tobin remembers very well.

Two and a half years ago, she watched Doctor Kelley O’Hara save the lives of two Ethiopian children who got hit by a speeding jeep, with nothing but a set of limited tools and a makeshift tent for an operating room; the heat of the sun hot and scalding against her back.

And when Doctor O’Hara slides her shoes against the tiled floor, Tobin can only watch in amusement as she _skates_ her way down the left wing’s hallway.

“Did she just—” she turns to Doctor Press, who’s startled by her sudden appearance. “Was she wearing roller skates or something?”

“Wheelies. It’s a Peds thing,” Christen states offhandedly. She tugs her scrub cap off, stuffing it at the back pocket of her scrub pants, then, “And what can I do for you, Miss?”

“Oh, uh—” Tobin trails off as her eyes trace the way Doctor Press’ hair bounces loose, cascading down her back in beautiful, loose curls.

But when she catches herself staring, she clears her throat, and then extends a polite hand, offering it for the doctor to shake. “Tobin Heath.”

Christen stares at the gesture with a straight face, long enough that it makes Tobin squirm.

But Captain Tobin Heath is nothing but patient, so she keeps it hanging in the space between them, sure and steady.

(Christen _honestly_ would’ve been impressed, if she didn’t annoy her so much.)

And when she finally accepts it, it’s more of a tug than a shake that Tobin honestly thinks her shoulder popped out of its socket from the force.

“I’m here to ask about my friend, Emily Sonnett?” Tobin says as the doctor drops her hand, surreptitiously rolls her shoulder when Doctor Press turns back to the counter to grab the stack of charts.

“Ah,” Christen hums. She lifts a couple of pages from the topmost chart, lingeringly flipping through each, like she’s taking _her_ time to read.

And then, she smiles at Tobin, her teeth showing; smiles a smile that’s too saccharine to be real. “I thought I already told you that I’m not at liberty to divulge anything about the surgery unless you’re a relative?”

“But I’m her friend!” Tobin reasons out. “I was the one who brought her here!”

“And on behalf of my patient, thank you for being a good friend.” Christen pulls the charts closer to her chest, preparing to leave. “Unfortunately, we do have hospital protocols to follow. Now if you'll excuse me, I have post-op rounds to get to.”

She makes a show of _unclicking_ her pen, tucking it inside the chest pocket of her scrub top, before sauntering down the same hallway Kelley wheeled into.

Tobin scrambles to her feet at the sight of the doctor walking away. “Wait!”

She falls into step with the other woman, skipping once or twice to catch up.

( _God_ , these doctors are fast.)

Christen keeps her eyes trained ahead, ignoring the other woman walking beside her.

“Wait, look,” Tobin says. Her hands fumble all over her black leather jacket, seemingly searching for something. “I’m actually her emergency contact and I have proof.”

The doctor exhales an exasperated breath, and then halts in her steps, turning to face the other woman. She lifts the hand that isn’t cradling the post-ops charts, holding it out at Tobin, palm up. “Let’s have it then.”

“Yeah, let me just—” Tobin grins as she fishes out a square card out of her jacket’s inside pocket. “Here! This is Emily’s ID card.”

Christen swipes the card from Tobin’s fingers. “Second Lieutenant Emily Ann Sonnett,” she mumbles as she reads. “Blood Type, A. _Hmmm_. Emergency Contact, Captain Tobin Powell Heath.”

The doctor lets her hand drop to her side, studying the woman in front of her dubiously. “ _You’re_ Captain Tobin Heath?”

In turn, Tobin salutes at her. “At your service.” She then looks at Doctor Press from under her lids, hiding the triumphant grin that shapes on her lips at the disbelief written all over the other woman’s face.

“So,” she drawls, dragging the syllable out. “Can I ask now how my friend is doing?”

Christen narrows her eyes, refusing to accept defeat. “You look too young to be a captain.”

“Wait, what? Hey! What do you mean?!”

She smirks as she watches Tobin’s face fall, her grin quickly replaced by a disgruntled look. “I need to see your ID. I need to make sure you’re really Captain Heath.”

“Seriously?” The soldier huffs. But she dutifully fishes her own ID card and hands it to Doctor Press.

Christen looks it over, front to back and then front again, hoping for any proof that it’s fake.

But it checks out, and only a sigh manages to escape her as she silently mourns the loss of the only thing she can lord over Tobin Heath’s head.

 _Captain_ Tobin Heath’s head.

She hands both cards back to its owner, then, speaks, matter-of-factly. “The surgery was a success; no complications. She’s now in the recovery room, and she’ll stay there until the anesthesia wears off. But we’ll have to keep her for one more day to monitor any infections.”

Tobin nods, letting the information sink in. “So, she can get discharged tomorrow?”

“Barring any infections or complications,” Christen confirms. “She should be good to go tomorrow afternoon.”

“Okay.”

“Do you need anything else, Captain?”

“Actually,” Tobin starts, and Christen tries really, _really_ hard not to roll her eyes. “Yes.”

She tilts her head, looking at the captain expectantly.

“Would you like to have coffee with me?”

...

 

 

Christen absolutely did not see that coming.

She was expecting an asinine request, something that will _un-endear_ Captain Heath to her even more.

An invitation for coffee was not on the list.

So Christen can’t help but gape at the other woman, mouth opening and closing like a fish’s.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s—I just want to thank you for treating Emily.” Tobin smiles, scuffs the toe of her shoes against the tiled floor. “And we kind of got off on the wrong foot. I want to fix that.”

She looks so shy, nothing like how Christen has imagined most soldiers would act, that Christen’s lips tug of their own accord, returning Tobin’s smile in kind. “No, it’s okay. I told you I get that a lot. ”

“Yeah, but, it sort of got worse. And I’m really sorry about that,” says Tobin. “I say dumb things when I’m nervous. Really dumb things.”

Though, upon realizing that she just basically admitted a weakness to someone she just met, she screws an eye shut, then, “Please don’t tell Emily. She’s never gonna let me live it down.”

Christen bites the inside of her cheek, stifling the laugh that’s threatening to escape. She flashes an amused smile at Tobin, perhaps the first genuine one she’s ever sent her way.

“Your secret is safe with me.”

Tobin doesn’t bother hiding the fact that she may be _ultimately_ charmed; that her heart has skipped a beat the moment she’s finally coaxed out a real smile from Doctor Christen Press.

“So, coffee?”

“Sorry, I really do have post-op rounds to finish and a surgery in two hours,” answers Christen. She turns around, her hair swishing gracefully behind her. But she looks over her shoulder and leaves Tobin with, “But I wouldn’t say no to a cup waiting for me afterwards.”

And a smile that Tobin now knows is gonna haunt her dreams for days.

...

 

 

It’s eleven minutes past five in the afternoon when Christen finally finishes her rounds, with a good thirty minutes to spare before her next surgery.

Christen decides, then, to check how her department is doing. The elevator _dings_ as it reaches the ER floor, and she steps out as soon as the double doors slide open.

She stretches her neck as she walks, cupping a hand over the space where it meets her shoulder; lets her fingers work out the knot that has seemingly formed underneath.

She’s still a good five steps away from her station when she spots a figure hunched over the Nurses Station’s pristine white counter.

Captain Heath is propped on both arms against the smooth surface. Next to her is a steaming cup of what she supposes is coffee, and a box that she recognizes is from the pastry stall by the cafeteria.

Tobin’s scanning the small crowd of doctors and patients currently milling around the room; Christen guesses she’s looking for her.

And she feels her own self smiling.

Christen stuffs both her hands inside the pockets of her white coat, pulling it to a close as she takes small steps towards the other woman, lower lip caught in between her teeth.

“I see you took the doctor’s advice,” she says from behind Captain Heath.

Tobin whirls around at the sound of Christen’s voice, the corner of her eyes crinkling as her gaze settles on the doctor’s face.

“Of course. I just got into her good graces,” she quips, pushing the cup closer to Christen. “Can’t have her hating me again.”

“Hate is such a strong word,” Christen teases back. “Annoying, perhaps. A bit pompous—”

Tobin pushes the pastry box next, cutting Christen off. “I have a feeling that that list is going to get long, so,” she lifts the box’s lid open. “I’m gonna distract you with this.”

A giddy laugh bubbles up Christen’s throat, then, “How did you know donuts are my favorite?”

“A good soldier never reveals her resources,” Tobin replies.

“Fair enough,” Christen answers, feigning offense as she narrows her eyes at the other woman good-naturedly. “A total cop out, but still fair.”

“Sorry, just following the rules.” Tobin holds both her hands up and then grins. Though, when she speaks again, there is a serious tone in her voice wrapped in gratitude. “And, thank you… _again_ , for treating my friend.”

Christen presses her lips together, suddenly feeling shy and incredibly humbled. “You’re welcome, Captain Heath.”

“Please, call me Tobin,” the other woman says.

Christen nods. Then, in a move that Tobin doesn’t see coming, the doctor sticks a hand out.

To her face.

“Christen.”

Tobin goes cross-eyed as she looks at the fingertips almost touching her nose. It crinkles into laugh lines when she laughs and slides their hands together.

“Thank goodness. I thought I was going to call you Doctor Press for the rest of my life.”

...

 

 

Tobin mingles with the crowd of people waiting for the elevator. Christen has long gone to the OR suite for her next surgery, and so Tobin finds herself making her way up to the Pediatrics Department after she gets wind of where Doctor O’Hara usually stays from one of Christen’s nurses. She’s armed with another steaming cup of coffee in hand and oatmeal cookies that she remembers Kelley loved to make during their stay in Ethiopia.

It’s five minutes to midnight, and twelve hours since she’s sent a text message to her higher ups, informing them of Emily’s situation.

Tobin isn’t expecting a reply at all. So when her phone rings, signaling an incoming call, her heart jumps at the shrill sound and the coffee in her other hand sloshes in turn.

But she steadies it in one deep breath, prompted by the _General Sauerbrunn_ that’s flashing on the screen.

Tobin swipes a thumb, answering the call.“Ma’am.”

“ _Captain Heath_ ,” she hears from the other line. “ _What’s your location?_ ”

Tobin jogs to the quieter part of the floor before replying. “I’m at Providence, Ma’am.”

“ _I see. I know you’re still on break, and you know I really hate to be doing this, but, we’ve received intelligence reports of unfriendlies, north of Nome_. _Possible_ _IEDs on site._ ”

“I’m already on my way back to base,” Tobin nods even though the general can’t see. She dumps the coffee at the nearest trash bin— _what a waste_ but duty calls—fishes her keys out of her pocket, and then sprints down the hospital stairs.

“ _Rendezvous at zero one hundred hours_ ,” General Sauerbrunn instructs. “ _Alpha Team is already on standby_.”

“Copy that, Ma’am.”

“ _And Captain?_ ”

“Ma’am?”

“ _You have permission to destroy evidence. No one can know that insurgents have set foot in America._ ”


	2. ii.

Old Corral, Nome isn’t exactly a ghost town—a population of four hundred and three in the official records—but the pitch black sky blanketing the night, cloaking endless acres of snow and grass, and the few houses far and in between, gives Tobin the feeling.

It’s a faintly-lit dusk; the waning light barely reflects on the army truck’s side mirror as it skids down the snow-covered road. Tobin can count the stars littering the sky in her fingers.

She catches Sergeant Ashlyn Harris’ gaze from the rear view mirror just as the truck rolls to a quiet stop, eyeing the black lines deliberately smeared across the Sergeant’s face, matching hers.

Tobin commands a _move out_ with a jerk of her head, lets the chorus of _thuds_ fill her ears as their thick combat boots hit the ground.

“Get into position,” she speaks soft yet firm, her voice wafting into the quiet of the night along with the wisps of her breath. The rest of her squad members move to carry out the order, forming a line of seven people behind her.

The captain taps the earpiece on, and keeps schtum until the static sizzles in her ear. “Harry to command. We’re going in.”

On the rooftop of one of the small-rise buildings a few meters away, Sergeant First Class Tierna Davidson acknowledges from her spot. “ _Little T to Harry._ ”

Tierna’s very own rifle is perched above the thick yet short wall surrounding the rectangular space, the stout barrel aided by a front stand while the stock rests against her shoulder. “ _I have visual_.”

She adjusts her scope’s lens to keep Tobin’s form in the center of its crosshair, intending to follow the captain’s movement. Her index finger rests loosely on the hollow above the trigger, ready to squeeze if it calls for it. “ _No threats identified yet._ ”

“Copy that.” Tobin holds a hand up to her squad, then, “team, wait for my signal.”

Bending slightly in the knees, she lifts her weapon into position and presses the butt of her M4 against the hollow of her right shoulder, keeping it steady.

Tobin frees the hand that’s wrapped around the barrel. She waves it forward twice, stalks to and blends with the sea of almost frozen grass that rises up to her waist; General Sauerbrunn’s direct orders echoing all over her head.

...

  


The target is a small two-storey structure, low and almost crumbling. The red of its bricks has already faded with time, moss growing in between the crevices.

Half of the windows are covered with plies of wood haphazardly nailed on top of each, but Tobin can see faint streaks of yellow light passing through the cracks of the second floor’s front window.

The first floor, though, her team is completely blind to. Rusty tin roofs shield the inside from view, and the metal door unhinged halfway through barely provides enough space for Tierna to get a glimpse of through her binoculars.

Tobin treads the scant distance in cautious, lithe steps—light and noiseless, as if her boots are floating above the ground—until she reaches the front brick wall next to the main door and sticks to it.

The rest of her team follow suit, with Sergeant Harris bent on one knee behind her. The muzzle of the sergeant’s gun is already pointed towards the door. Corporal Alex Morgan copies the captain’s position while Corporal Megan Rapinoe mimics Sergeant Harris.

They are flanked by four male privates, whose own M4s are already cocked, loaded and aimed at the doorway, fully prepared to strike.

Tobin taps Sergeant Harris’ shoulder, tilting her head to point at the broad piece of metal when the soldier snaps her gaze up expectantly.

Sergeant Harris nods in acquiesce. She scoots forward, and with the tip of her gun’s muzzle, pushes the door open.

Tobin refuses to flinch at the resounding creak that rings all over the freezing air, keeping her gaze straight ahead.

The entire first floor is a square space that Tobin’s certain is only slightly bigger than her own apartment. A lone bulb is the only source of light, hanging on a peeling black electric cord. It’s swinging feebly above a frail wooden table that looks like it’s about to give in into the weight of the two crates resting on it.

Lining the left side of the wall are piles of metal crates, all akin to the two boxes on the table.

There really is no other room to reconnoiter, save for the second floor, and another door at the right corner opposite one window.

Tobin instructs one of the privates to check the other door out, getting an _it’s an exit, Captain_ just as she has expected.

She nods in acknowledgement, and then barks out an ensuing order. “Take Santiago with you to secure the back. And if you see anyone, bring them in for questioning.”

Next, she turns to the two corporals. “Janice, Reign, lead the way up. The guys will follow you.”

Then, she spins around to face Sergeant Harris, and says, “Logan, let’s go check out those crates.”

.

 

Tobin inspects the outside first, searching for any markings that might clue them in on where the crates may have come from. Or what’s inside.

It’s unlikely, she _knows_ , but she has an inkling—that strong pull in her gut that’s never failed her—though, she needs to be a hundred percent sure.

She dusts off the lid with the gloved part of her hand, unsurprised when she finds nothing on it. Her fingers play with the lock keeping the crate closed, twisting and turning it as much as the minute hole it’s hooked into would allow.

Tobin studies it for a long second, lifts her M4 up next, tilting it a few degrees until the edge of the stock fits enough in the hollow space between the lock’s metal arc and its bulky red body. Then, with a solid force, she hits the lock with the butt of her gun to pry it open.

It breaks on the first try. Tobin springs into action, unhooking the broken lock and cracking the metal lid open.

The inside of the box is covered with silver foam insulation, while white foam sheets are haphazardly thrown to seal the entire top.

Ashlyn fists a hand over the foam sheets, tossing them aside. It reveals a pile of green rectangular boxes carefully stacked on top of each other. Each one has a smaller grey box attached to its upper center—the size of a matchbox—and a red circle in the grey box’s middle that Tobin suspects would flash a blinking light if it was activated.

 _C4s_ , Tobin _knows_ , with a layout and a mechanism so familiar it makes Tobin take an involuntary step back, looking stunned.

Heart on her throat, she carefully fishes one out from inside the box, turning it on its side. If the insignia is there then—

Tobin closes her eyes, trying to blink away the image of the red hammer and yellow sickle that she knew too well.

But her vision doesn’t see black. Instead, she sees flashes of a night that rained of bullets and fire. A night where the sky was littered with smoke, and the furious red hue fighter planes had lit it with as they let their projectiles loose, forming a sea of clouds the color of blazing flames.

(It was a bloody night in Gilead; one of those moments when Tobin was almost sure she wasn’t going to make it out.

But her team had pulled through, out of the island and past Russia’s southern border.)

Tobin swallows thickly as she sets the C4 back to its place, shaking her head along with her hands to relieve the shock off of her system.

Then, she steps closer to the table again, taps her earpiece and speaks in a steely tone, “HQ, this is Harry. Do you copy?”

The earpiece comes to life as a disembodied voice fills her ear. “ _Copy Harry_ , _proceed_.”

“I got eyes on the package, Ma’am,” Tobin reports, angling her body so that the recon camera she has hidden beneath her kevlar vest can capture the evidence. “I’m afraid it’s _Bratva_.”

The other line is silent for a good long second. Tobin thinks— _knows_ —General Sauerbrunn is as taken aback as her. This new found information changes _everything_.

“ _We’ll have to clear this up with Vasiliev right away,_ ” General Sauerbrunn finally replies. “ _The next peace talks are still months away but this is a matter urgency._ ”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“ _I’m getting in touch with him as we speak. Secure the area, Captain Heath and get back to base._ ”

“Roger that, Ma’am.”

.

 

Tobin heaves a deep breath as soon as the static on her earpiece fades. She runs her eyes along the metal crates, mentally trying to count in her head how many C4s could be sitting in the room right at this moment.

 _Too many for any of us to be safe_ , her mind screams. She wipes the bead of sweat that trickles from her helmet-covered forehead down to her eyebrow with the sleeve of her green camouflage; keys in the two-way radio hanging on her left shoulder. “Bravo team, this is Harry from Alpha Team. Send in the troop, over.”

The static crackles from the other line, then, “ _Harry, this is Bravo team leader. Roger that._ ”

She pulls the crate’s lid to a close. Her hands go back to gripping her weapon as she feels prickling all over her skin, the hairs at the back of her neck raising.

Like someone’s watching.

“This is too easy,” Tobin states. Her eyes survey the front door they’ve left open, trying to see past the dark fields for any form of movement.

Ashlyn throws her a quizzical look, but she doesn’t get to ask because Alex is barreling down the stairs with Megan and the two other soldiers straight on their heels.

“Second floor is clear, Captain,” Alex reports with a salute. “But we counted twenty of the same crates.”

Tobin nods in acknowledgement. Her face pulls taut as the wariness quickly settles in. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Keep your eyes open.”

She drops her chin, tapping on the earpiece, and listens closely for the tell-tale static of the line. Then, she speaks, “Harry to Little T. Do you see any sign of movement?”

“ _Little T to Harry_ ,” Tobin hears from the other line; hears the hitch in Tierna’s breath, like she has just sucked a gasp of air in.

It can only mean one thing, Tobin thinks, and she’s already pulling her combat knife from its holster before Tierna can even confirm her suspicion.

“ _Hostiles are approaching_.”

“How many?” Tobin demands.

“ _Thirteen_ ,” responds Tierna.

“How far?”

 _“Two minutes to location_. _”_

“Fucking hell,” she curses under her breath. She jogs towards the nearest window and steps on her toes, peeking through one of the few holes riddling the rusty tin roof that seals it. Darkness meets her vision, but she can make out shadows slowly approaching the structure.

“Weapons?”

“ _Unclear. No signs of any form_.”

“Close combat,” Tobin mutters, matter-of-factly. She holds the hand clutching her knife up, showing the rest of her team to do the same.

“ _Do I have permission to fire, Captain?_ ”

“Negative,” she quickly forbids. “We have confirmed IEDs in the area. It’s too dangerous.”

“ _Copy that_ ,” Tierna acknowledges. “ _Do you need me to come down, Ma’am?_ ”

“No,” Tobin commands. She sprints back to her previous position and raises her hands up, her right elbow jutting out as she holds the knife in reverse, the tip of the knife’s blade just going a little past her wrist.

Her left arm is tilted in an angle that’s meant to go for a block, completing the stance. “I need you to contact Bravo Team again. We may need some help.”

...

  


The thirteen hostiles come barging in all at once. Tobin honestly can’t fathom how they’d manage to fit through the narrow doorways to swarm them.

They don’t leave her any room to ponder either, as the first guy lunges at her with the cutthroat knife in his hand as soon as she’s within his reach.

She almost backs into Sergeant Harris in her attempt to hop away from his large, meaty fist. But she does bump into her when Ashlyn tries to go for the same guy.

(And this is when she misses Emily most, right when they’re in the middle of combat, because Emily knows Tobin’s every move; the same way Tobin knows how Emily favors right so Tobin always, _always_ takes the left.)

He swings his other hand, missing Tobin completely as she ducks under his arm.

She twists on her side and drives her shoulder into his chest, slamming him against the wall. The weapons in their hands both slip from the force, but before Tobin can kick her enemy’s knife away from his reach, her neck gets locked in on another attacker’s elbow that comes from behind her.

Tobin feels the crook of it closing in on her throat. She tries to hit him with her own elbow to escape his hold, but his grip is stronger and she’s in a position of disadvantage.

So she kicks both her feet off the ground, lets the heels of her boots land on the chest of the man in front of her, and then uses the gravity of her fall to drag the one trying to smother her down with her.

His chin hits Tobin’s helmet hard as she falls on her behind. He cries out in pain, freeing the captain to cradle his aching lower jaw.

The force of the impact blinds him momentarily; Tobin takes the chance to sweep his feet with hers, hitting him with the butt of her M4 when he falls on his back to knock him out.

She’s about to do the same to her first attacker, only to find him already slumped against the wall, dust imprinted on his black shirt in the shape of her boots’ soles.

Tobin picks her knife up, going to Alex’s rescue when she finds her surrounded by three men, all waiting for the smallest rift in her defenses.

She runs the short distance, kicking the smaller guy on Alex’s left in the knee. There’s a resounding crack of a joint breaking, and the grunt of the guy’s pain.

The maneuver startles the other two men; Alex takes the surprise to her advantage and slaps one of the men’s weapon off his hand. She darts both her hands out to grab his shoulders, sinking her knee hard on his sternum.

He doubles over in pain, trying to catch his breath. Though he never gets to as Alex slams the butt of her own knife against his temple.

Soon enough, the only guy left recovers from his surprise and goes after Tobin. He clubs her with a fist, the butt of his knife hitting her shoulder blade since her back is on him.

Tobin winces at the painful throbbing his blow leaves her with, and she’s _sure_ it’s going to bruise. She spins around, hand already swinging to hit back, but he catches her movement and blocks the strike with his arm.

She quickly retracts her hand, juts her elbow out again to form her stance. Though, this time, she levels both her hands to cover her face. The knife’s still in a reverse grip, only tighter, as her eyes trail his every move.

He takes a quick jab, testing the waters. Tobin blocks it with her own knife, steel meeting steel in a loud clink.

She switches on her feet; shifting her weight on the right leg. The man swings at her two more times, which she successfully dodges. But the frustration gets to him, causing him to throw caution to the wind and charge at Tobin in full force.

She catches his hand in between her arms, but before she can lock it in and knock his knife off, he knees her on the spot unprotected by her vest.

Tobin doesn’t let go despite the pain, provoking him for a second hit. His force comes stronger and higher that it pierces through her kevlar and she feels his knee make contact with a few of her ribs.

She staggers back, sputtering. He doesn’t let up, tosses his knife onto his other hand and slashes Tobin with it.

Right where the helm of her vest ends, merely centimeters above her hip.

The lucky bastard.

He pulls his hand back, grinning triumphantly at the blood that now coats the blade. He tosses his knife again, seemingly aiming to get Tobin’s other side too.

Tobin grits her teeth, barely blocking his assault as the pain from the wound on her side grows; barely can keep up as he alternates between punching and stabbing through her defenses.

Yet, it’s also a flaw that Tobin knows all too well. She lets him rain swings at her, lulling him into a false sense that she’s losing her strength.

And when his blows start to slow and his speed wanes, Tobin catches his last strike with her hand, twisting his elbow. And then, she flings him towards the window next to her with all the strength she manages to muster.

His hulking body breaks through tin roof and plywood with a loud crack, careening outwards like he’s a ball kicked out of the pitch.

Though, Tobin’s body sags against her will afterwards, her hand clutching the wound on her side, and pressing a palm on it to stop the bleeding. “ _Fuck_.”

She limps to where the table is and slumps unceremoniously at the edge, leans her shoulder against the metal crate for support as she catches her breaths.

As soon as she can no longer hear her heart pounding in her ears, she roams her eyes all over the small space, checking for any casualties on her team. Ashlyn’s currently helping Private Santiago and the three other soldiers in rounding up and tying the hostiles.

(Tobin’s only then noticing the knocked out bodies sprawled outside the building.)

Megan’s cradling a bleeding arm. Alex is hunched over the railing of the stairs, clearly tired and panting.

Tobin exhales a sigh of relief upon knowing that she and her team live for another day; lets out a tired laugh when Tierna’s voice blares her earpiece to life, and says, “ _Looks like you guys didn’t need backup after all._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no christen in the chapter, i know, but it's kind of a setup for the next ones :) come yell at me @ geekmythologys.tumblr.com anyway :p


	3. iii.

It’s daylight by the time Tobin gets back to Providence Presbyterian. The sun is already high up and close to blinding when the Alpha Team’s captain finally steps out of the two hour-long arduous debriefing.

Tobin also hasn’t had a decent meal in almost seventeen hours. The injustice of it all, _really_ ; she helps save the country and yet, there’s no free food.

She lumbers towards Emily’s room, trying not to wince at the pain that jolts her system every few steps she takes. But she makes sure to keep a straight face before cracking the door open, because Emily knows her too well, and right now, they have more pressing things to talk about other than a wound sustained from a moment of her own carelessness.

Only, she walks into an empty room, and to _no_ Emily lying on the hospital bed.

Tobin scratches the back of her head, frowning at the sight of rumpled sheets yet an empty mattress. She retreats one step from the doorway and checks the number screwed on the front door. It still says _214_ and hasn’t changed, so she knows she didn’t just barge in into the wrong room.

She reads the name printed on white paper next, spelled out in all caps and slid inside the signage that’s hanging on the adjacent wall: _Sonnett, Emily Ann._

Tobin’s scowl deepens, because she’s tired, and she’s hungry, and she really needs to tell Emily about last night’s mission but she’s nowhere to be found.

( _Tell_ Emily, her _friend_ , because Tobin doesn’t have the all clear to debrief her Second Lieutenant about a mission she wasn’t a part of. But her mind is swimming in _whys_ and _what could means_ , and she needs Emily’s clear head to help unclutter hers.)

She’s about to march into the Nurses Station to ask about the younger woman’s whereabouts when her eyes catch a figure coming around the corner; a vision in royal blue scrubs and a white coat that falls halfway through the thighs.

With hair as straight as silk this time, like smooth honey dripping over lean shoulders.

Doctor Christen Press’ hands are hooked inside the pockets of her coat as she wanders down the hallway, greeting everyone she passes by. A cheery smile lights her eyes, unknowingly coaxing out one of Tobin’s own.

And so Tobin finds herself tightening the black tie holding her hair together and coiffing the baby hairs that have grown, letting them stick out in a way that she hopes doesn’t make her look like she hasn’t slept for more than two hours; pulls at the hem of her untucked dark green combat uniform jacket to smoothen it, and dusts the invisible lint off of her shoulders before ambling forward to meet the doctor.

Christen already has her nose buried in on one of the charts the nurse on duty has handed her when Tobin reaches her. So she doesn’t notice the captain right away, too intent on scribbling medication instructions on the large empty space at bottom of the paper, in perhaps the neatest scrawl Tobin has ever seen.

Tobin’s content to stand a step away from beside the doctor and puts her hands behind her back, her lips twitching as she watches the concentrated little frown settle on the space in between Christen’s eyebrows.

But Christen’s hair falls into one side as she tilts her head, smooth strands going along with the movement, and it takes Tobin’s _everything_ to not let her eyes trace where it begins to where it ends out of the utmost respect.

(Though, Tobin would be lying if she says that it isn’t one of the hardest things she’s ever had to do.)

Instead, she fixes her attention to the sound that’s filling the air: Christen’s pen scratching against smooth paper, mixing with the soft murmurs from nurses coming and going. Until Christen punctuates it with the tell-tale click of her pen.

Tobin then clears her throat before speaking, so as to not startle the other woman. “Doctor Press,” she greets, smiling for good measure.

Christen looks away from the paper, turning towards the direction of the sound.

(And admittedly, it takes her a good _long_ minute to realize that it’s Tobin who’s standing in front of her, decked in shiny black combat boots and her army combat uniform, with its sleeves folded past her elbows.

Because Captain Tobin Heath cleans up really, _really_ nice.)

“Captain Heath,” Christen greets back. “Are you here to pick my patient up?”

The way Christen flashes her a bright smile renders a wholly unprepared Tobin stunned for a beat, leaving her floundering for words. “I uhm,” she clears her throat again, then, “I'm actually looking for—wait, she can go home now?”

“Oh, yes. I signed her discharge papers this morning,” the doctor explains.

“Do you know where she is?” Tobin asks, jerking a thumb at the direction of Emily’s room. “She’s not in there.”

“Ah, she’s probably down at Billing. Doctor O’Hara volunteered to watch over her since she’s refusing to use a wheelchair.”

“Sounds like Emily alright,” Tobin grumbles, almost like an afterthought. “So damn stubborn. She should’ve waited for me.”

“I did tell her that, but she told me she can settle everything on her own.”

“And Kelley’s with her?” She quizzes, her face a mix of uncertainty and disbelief.

Christen nods, then, “I wasn’t going to let her, but Kelley volunteered. She said she’d make sure Emily doesn’t overexert herself.”

Tobin’s answering hum is _knowing_ , that Christen can’t help but peer at her, interest clearly piqued. “I’m missing something here, aren’t I? Because you called her Kelley, like, so casually,” she starts, then, “And when I got to Emily’s room, she was already there.”

Tobin’s eyes widen at that. She takes one step closer to Christen, whispering, “ _Really_? What were they doing?”

“I’m not really sure.” Christen shrugs. “It was just… really quiet when I got there.”

She honestly feels like she’s one of those gossiping older women she passes by on her way to work every morning, the kind she _hates_ ; and Kelley is her friend. But there’s such an endearing curious look on Tobin’s face that she just can’t quite resist. So, she adds, “They looked guilty though. Like they were doing something they shouldn’t be. I’ve never seen Kelley look so unsure.”

At that, Tobin sighs, and it’s deep. “It’s a long story.”

Christen doesn’t mean it— _really_ doesn’t mean to, but her lips purse into a pout. “There you are giving me cop out answers again.”

The other woman chuckles, shaking her head. “I do know Kelley,” she affirms, and then looks up at Christen through her lashes as she continues. “As for the thing between Emily and her, if it were up to me, I’d say I can be persuaded by a pretty smile and some really, really good company. But, it’s not my story to tell.”

Christen feigns a scoff, looking away to hide the smile the compliment wedged in between Tobin’s words tugs from her lips. Then, she hums, “Fair enough.”

And in a perfect twirl that has her white coat sashaying with impossible grace, she saunters down the hallway, though, not without tossing over her shoulder, “But I say I’ll take my chances.”

The corner of Tobin’s mouth rises crookedly at the shake of her head. But she scrambles to her feet and falls into steps with Doctor Christen Press.

...

 

Tobin honestly can’t believe she forgot.

 _Captain Tobin Heath_ , who prides herself with her sharp mind and utmost vigilance, _forgot_ that she just sustained a knife wound not even twenty four hours ago.

All because a beautiful doctor with the most dazzling smile has got her utterly charmed.

Tobin doubles over the moment she and Christen reach the row of elevators, the throbbing ache plucking curses she huffs through gritted teeth. Her hand darts out from her side to prop herself on the closest wall for support, determined to let it pass in silence like the good soldier she is; but a pang that seems to ripple through her entire wound has her sucking in air and hissing, “ _Oh fuck me_.”

Christen pivots upon hearing the word, wide-eyed and looking scandalized. But her shock quickly turns into a concerned gasp at the sight of the other woman curling in on herself, the captain’s face wincing in pain. “Tobin!”

She places a hand on Tobin’s shoulder and stoops down to meet her eyes. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“I— _shit_ ,” Tobin tries to say. Yet, her next words just shift into huffed grunts.

A crowd has already started to form by the elevator queue, some waiting impatiently for the telltale _ding_ , most peering curiously at Tobin’s hunched form. Christen feels more than sees the gazes trained on them, hears the murmurs of the people gathered not far from behind, so she picks her head up and scans the floor for an empty space.

Her eyes land on the closest hallway that leads to another row of patient rooms, her gaze skimming quickly through each until she finds an empty one with its blinds open.

Christen returns her attention to the other woman, who—to Christen’s relief—now looks like she’s breathing slightly better, as if the pain has subsided a little at least. “Tobin, can you walk?”

Tobin straightens up slowly, nodding. “Yeah, no problem.” She presses a gentle palm against the wound to hold it as she walks, though, she stops right after the first step and lets out another hiss. Then, she says, “Just... slowly, _maybe_.”

“Okay, we can work with that.”

She follows Christen towards the empty patient room, sitting obediently on the bed, right next to the empty space the doctor pats.

Christen pushes the door close while Tobin perches herself at the edge of the bed; snaps the blinds shut as Tobin starts to unbutton her uniform, shrugging off the side where her wound is.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Christen asks when she returns her attention to the captain, and there’s enough concern flickering in her eyes that Tobin can’t help but take as that she _actually_ cares.

“I think it’s better if I show you,” answers Tobin. She lifts her shirt up a little, revealing the bleeding wound covered by a poor excuse of a gauze.

Christen draws in a sharp breath in response, the sound muffled by the fingers she covers her mouth with. “What happened?”

“An occupational hazard,” the captain replies, huffing  again as another pang courses through her system when she tries to scoot herself up to a more comfortable position.

“Wha—” Christen starts to asks. But she breaks herself off, realizing that the _whys_ and the _hows_ don’t really matter right now, not when the gash looks like it has never been closed. “Can I?”

At Tobin’s answering nod, she carefully peels the gauze off of the wound, muttering _sorry_ , _I’m_ _sorry_ every time Tobin even takes so much as a sniff to hold her breath.

Christen tuts as soon as she sees the extent of it, to which the captain weakly defends with a chuckle that sounds a little forced.

“It looks worse than it is.”

“It _is_ actually as bad as I think it is,” Christen rebukes. “Definitely needs stitches. Wait here, I’m gonna go get some supplies.”

Just as Christen shuffles towards the doorway, Tobin calls back for her attention teasingly. “I promise to be a good patient,” she starts to say, then, “if you promise to bring me a treat.”

“I’ll find Kelley and get you some lollipops then.”

“I meant food, Doctor,” the other woman answers, smirking. “Maybe dinner. Preferably, for two.”

Christen lets out an amused chuckle, one that trickles down to a shy smile that has her looking at Tobin from under her lids when she asks, “Are you always this direct?”

Tobin’s smirk turns cheeky, tongue sticking out against her cheek, then, “I didn’t say it was with you.”

The doctor’s smile drops in a flash. She schools her face into a serious expression the next second, so quick to pick her head up that it honestly impresses the other woman. “I know. I knew that.”

Though it’s belied by the tone that comes out _biting_ , and Tobin has to press her lips together just so she won’t crack up. Still, her nostrils flare when she says, “You did, huh?”

Christen raises her chin in response, looking down at the captain to hide the red now dotting her cheeks. “I’m going now. Before you end up bleeding all over my floor.”

She leaves in a stir of flustered awkwardness, almost colliding with the door frame on her way out.

And there goes Tobin’s laughter.

(And maybe her heart.)

...

 

Christen is back in a blink, or at least, that’s how Tobin feels.

She watches with rapt interest as _Doctor Christen Press_ surfaces the moment Christen sets her medical kit on top of the nearest table and pulls the lone rolling chair with her foot.

The doctor works in a trance that goes like this:

She switches the lamp on, twisting it in a way that it casts enough lighting for her to see clearly. She asks Tobin to recline on the bed next, and then rolls the captain’s gray shirt from the hem up, letting Tobin’s fingers serve as the clip to keep it from draping over the wound.

Doctor Press fishes a black hair tie from one of her coat’s pockets, gathers her hair up in a quick bun, before plopping down on the chair and snapping the rubber gloves she’s pulled from a boxful of on.

The chair squeaks as Christen rolls it closer onto the bed, stooping down to take a closer look at the gash.

“This looks really new. And painful,” she observes, chancing a glance at Tobin. “You weren’t exaggerating.”

Tobin scoffs, and this time, her disbelief isn’t feigned. “Did you think I was?”

Christen doesn’t bother resisting the urge to throw her head back and laugh, the sound imprinting permanently inside the other woman’s head. “Oh, you should’ve seen your face!”

Tobin’s sure that she has a comeback stashed somewhere within her brain, but the laughter reaches Christen’s eyes, turning them into the brightest greens that catches and leaves Tobin completely under her spell.

.

 

They’re quiet for the next minutes, with Christen stitching the wound up with practiced ease and Tobin simply gazing at her with a sense of entrancement.

(There’s beauty in the way Christen works that Tobin honestly thinks she’s lucky to see, her hands slow, sure and steady.)

Christen gently clips the thread once she reaches the end of the cut, wrapping the excess around the needle before discarding it on the nearby trash bin.

“You can get the stitches out in a week,” she tells Tobin as she gently tapes a new sterile gauze to cover it. “But, until then, you need to keep the wound clean, okay? Make sure to replace this,” she taps the edge of the dressing in gesture, then, “at least once a day. There’s a clinic at your base, right?”

Tobin rolls her shirt down, letting it drape over the gauze. She hums in response, as if to ponder, before speaking again. “How about I just come back here every day?”

The doctor looks up from putting her suture tools back to their kit, her surprise mixing with confusion. “Isn’t this too far of a drive?”

“Maybe,” the other woman grunts as she shifts on the bed, propping her palms against the mattress to help her sit up. “But who doesn’t love long drives, right?”

“You’d be surprised,” Christen replies with a chuckle.

“Touché,” Tobin yields. Though it doesn’t really mean surrender (Tobin likes to think that _that_ word doesn’t exist in her vocabulary). “But, I, for one, love them. So, can I?”

“If that’s what you really want,” Christen answers. She thumbs both gloves off and rolls them into a ball. “But it doesn’t have to be every day. Just three or four times will do.”

Tobin shifts again, bringing her legs down, knees bent by the edge of the hospital bed and her right knee practically touching one of Christen’s own. “I can work with that. But…”

Christen tilts her head, prompting Tobin to continue. “But?”

“Only if you’ll be my doctor.”

“You don’t actually really need a doctor for that.”

Tobin leans forward a little, the corner of her lips quirking into a crooked smile as she meets Christen’s gaze. “I do. Or I might accidentally take out my spleen.”

“First of all, that’s not where the spleen is,” Christen replies, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “That would be right,” she hums, dragging a finger from where the _safe_ edge of Tobin’s wound is up to the space in between her first and second rib, “here. So, taking it out would be a pretty impossible feat.”

(And if she hears Tobin’s breath hitch, she pretends she doesn’t notice.)

“Ah, but Doctor,” Tobin starts to say, pausing for effect (though it’s more to collect herself and her breath than anything, really). “You haven’t met me yet.”

Christen narrows her eyes at the other woman good-naturedly. “Is that a challenge?”

“I’m just saying,” Tobin quips, a shrug rolling off one shoulder. She inches even closer, smile still in place as she holds Christen’s gaze.

It’s five _pounding_ heartbeats later when the doctor breaks the contact, turning her head to the side where Tobin can’t see. But there’s a quirk at the edge of her lips that gives her sheepishness away completely.

Tobin, in turn, drops her own gaze to the floor, hiding the smile that’s quickly shaping into a huge grin. She clears her throat, then, asks, “So, will you be my doctor?”

Christen playfully rolls her eyes, though she finally, _finally_ agrees.“Fine. You can be my two pm.”

...

 

By the time Tobin gets back to Emily’s room, the younger woman’s already out of her hospital gown and is donning her jacket over the clothes she has worn yesterday, as if she’s getting ready to leave.

“There you are,” points Tobin as she waltzes inside. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Emily looks up upon hearing the older woman’s voice, arching a brow. “You couldn’t have messaged me?”

“My phone’s dead.” Tobin fishes the device out of her pocket, waving the unlit screen on Emily’s face. “See?”

“Whatever,” Emily grunts, swatting Tobin’s hand away, and then limps towards the nightstand to retrieve the few things she has stashed inside the bedside table’s drawer.

“Well someone’s grumpy,” the captain states, eyeing the stiffness in Emily’s movements. “Do I need to get you your meds or—”

“Did you tell Kelley I was here?” Emily quizzes, the glower she throws over her shoulder cutting the other woman off completely.

“Wha— _no_!” Tobin spreads her arms out in defense, frowning at the accusation in her friend’s tone. “I didn’t.”

The younger woman rights herself up, folding her arms over her chest. “How’d she find out then?”

“Em, she works here,” Tobin states, as if pointing out the obvious. “She’s bound to find out at some point.”

“I swear to God, Tobin,” Emily snaps, purposely ignoring reason. “If I find out you told her, I’ll kick you where it hurts.”

(The way her fingers squeeze both her arms makes Tobin think that she’s just trying to stop herself from doing something _stupid_ . Like decking her commanding officer on the face or _something_.

Granted, they’re both not on duty, yet, _still_.)

Tobin tilts her head, trying to keep the scowl in place to hide the amusement she knows is blooming on her face. “And where is that, exactly?”

Though, she’s unable to stop it from turning into a knowing smirk as soon as the realization sinks in, casting it at Emily’s direction that the younger woman only rolls her eyes at. “ _Oooh_ , that’s what’s got you all _Scrooge-y_?”

Emily’s about to lob back a retort but Tobin makes the mistake of stepping closer with that same smug smirk. She takes that chance instead and shoves the other woman.

Tobin’s quick to lean back and dodge the hand that flies out. But the movement stretches her new stitches, the jolt of pain yanking a loud _yelp_ out of her mouth.

And, just from that, Emily _knows_. “What the fuck happened?”

Tobin grimaces, rubs a gentle hand on the spot where her wound is now throbbing to soothe the ache. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“I’m not asking if you are,” Emily presses on, brushing off the incredulity that pulls on Tobin’s face. “I’m asking what happened.”

“Hey! Is that really how you talk to your commanding officer?”

“ _Captain_ ,” Emily hisses.

They stare at each other for a few seconds, with Emily refusing to let up despite Tobin’s clear attempts of stalling. Until Tobin finally speaks after the silence becomes too much, and Emily’s glare becomes too sharp. “General Broon called last night,” she sighs, keeping her voice low out of habit. “About a group of unfriendlies that made it inside.”

 _Unfriendlies_ feels like an understatement, judging by the dark look that suddenly clouds Tobin’s features. Emily just nods wordlessly at her, despite the same dark look that settles in on her own. And she’s almost afraid to ask, though, she knows she has to. “How bad was it?”

“It’s _Bratva_ , Em.”

It takes _that_ one name for dread to spread across Emily’s chest, leaving her balking and out of words. “B-but the peace talks—”

Tobin’s answering nod is grim. “The council’s already contacted Alexei. But I don’t have any updates yet.”

Emily _wants_ to ask, _wants_ to press on further about _what_ that means and what the future of the already precarious peace talks would hold. But she knows that Tobin doesn’t have the answers either, so she opts to just let the information sink in, filing it in her head and mulling it over in silence for a good long second before asking something else that comes to her mind. “And you? What happened?”

“I got knifed,” Tobin simmers at the memory; boils at the manic grin that flashes in her head—of a man that she _may_ or _may not_ pay a visit to in their headquarters’ penitentiary one of these days. “Someone knifed me so don’t you dare get appendicitis again. I was almost blind last night.”

Emily just snorts at the pinched look that forms on Tobin’s face, and at the finger that Tobin lifts to get her message across. Then, “Considering I can’t grow another appendix, I think we’re good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so chris is back, yay! hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! t&c are always so fun to write for, plus the content we're getting these days <3
> 
> thank you guys for reading! let me know what you guys think! i would love to hear your thoughts! you can also hmu @ geekmythologys.tumblr.com anytime.


	4. iv.

“Private Klingenberg, _‘tention!_ ” Captain Tobin Heath’s voice rings from the doorway of their sleeping quarters in a firm command, her tone laced with a certain sense of giddy urgency that even Tobin herself is admittedly not used to.

The private in question scrambles to her feet, flinging herself off of the top bunk of her shared bed without a second thought. She lands on the floor with a solid _thud_ yet stands ramrod straight, as if the heels of her bare feet didn’t just meet concrete; greets an approaching Tobin with a taut salute, one that Tobin returns with the same amount of enthusiasm.

Around them, the rest of the squad quiets down, watching with curious eyes and keen interest, plunging the entire room into silence. For the next three seconds, Tobin’s ensuing command is the only sound that echoes in the four corners. “At ease.”

The soldier’s limbs loosen up slightly as she spreads her legs within the proper distance and clasps her hands behind her back, no longer as stiff and as tense as before. And when the captain holds out a thin framed mirror in front of her, she doesn’t let an ounce of her confusion show.

“Hands out,” Tobin instructs, to which she obediently follows. “I need you to hold this, please. _Thank you_.”

She props the mirror at a slant against the private’s chest, directing her fingers to curl around the bottom edge for support. Then, she lowers both Meghan’s arms to adjust her reflection, but brings them back up again the next second, deciding that she likes what she sees in that angle more.

Satisfied, Tobin carefully studies her appearance in the mirror. She fixes the creases of her uniform pants tucked inside her boots first until she deems it impeccable; coiffs her hair next, keeping her bun tight and centered, and the unruly locks laid as flat as they can. Her hands then slide down to where her name tape is sticking askew, peeling it off and cleaning the velcro attached behind before fastening it back to its spot above her chest pocket.

Her eyes are too focused on making sure that her name’s perfectly aligned that she hears more than sees the clack of boots drawing near, the sound of its gait giving the owner away despite the light limping.

“Do I even want to know?”

Tobin merely hums in response, and only twists back to regard their second lieutenant once she’s sure that the patch is tacked on securely. She nods a wordless greeting, then, “Nothing really important. Just due for a dressing change.”

Emily watches how the other woman returns her attention back to the mirror and starts unfolding and refolding the sleeves of her uniform jacket, a brow arching as she states, “You’re way too put together for a clinic visit.”

“If that’s you trying to tell me that I always look like a slob, then may I remind you that we haven’t picked who’s on dish duty yet.”

Emily pockets both of her hands, shifting her weight on the foot that’s opposite of where her surgical wound is. She studies her captain quietly for a few beats, noting the way Tobin seems to be gussying herself up, and runs a quick list of nurses and doctors currently deployed to their base’s clinic in her head.

 _One_ clicks, but it has Emily throwing Tobin a haughty glare, as if she’s privy to something that Tobin isn’t. “Hate to break it to you, Captain, but, Lieutenant Dahlkemper is straight. Like, one hundred percent heterosexual.”

Tobin eyes her quietly through the mirror for a long second, seemingly letting this newfound information sink in. The fingers working on her sleeves cease their movement, though, her hands don’t drop. She just stands completely frozen in that position, staring at Emily with pensive eyes—

—at least until she breaks into a feigned anguish that she _definitely_ hams up. “Oh no, what am I gonna do?”

From somewhere behind them, Tierna cracks into a laugh. But she promptly hides it behind her fist and a feigned cough as she glances warily at her superior. (It’s just her luck that Emily’s too busy rolling her eyes at their commanding officer to notice.)

“Seriously though,” Tobin tells her. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“Tall, blonde, brown eyes?” Emily supplies. Tobin only shakes her head. “Can pass as a swimsuit model?”

“Still no idea,” Tobin maintains with a shrug.

Her mind fleets back to bright green eyes—it seems like it’s all she can think about the last few days—and she has to quickly smother the grin that ensues from the vision her mind paints. Though, it has her mumbling, “Totally not interested in getting any ideas.”

Emily crosses her arms then, still intent on figuring their captain out. But Ashlyn seems to take pity on her—or she just really needs the peace and quiet this ample downtime has promised—and jumps in to her rescue.

“She’s going back to Providence,” Ashlyn explains from her own bunk bed. She doesn’t look away from her phone, her thumb just continuously swiping over the screen. (Everyone knows she’s scrolling through the photos of her wife and their dog again.)

Emily chances a glance at her, looks back at a now smirking Tobin—who has _finally_ moved on from fixing her sleeves—and then gestures at Private Klingenberg and the mirror resting in her arms. “That explains this then. _Kinda_.”

“Why?” Alex quizzes out loud, clearly confused. “That’s like, an hour long drive.”

“Listen,” Tobin starts to answer, “healthy people make a strong nation. And in order for me to be at my best while serving the country, I need the best care that I can get,” she recites, like it’s a speech she’s already written in her head for this _exact_ moment. “This is for the people.”

Her voice has taken a _lecturing_ tone that Emily almost buys for a second.

 _Almost_.

“Is that right,” Emily drawls out. She hums, starts nodding animatedly as if she’s finally able to comprehend _everything_. “And is the _people_ pretty?” She asks, clawing the air out at _people_.

Their captain doesn’t respond, but Emily takes the smile that Tobin can’t stop from forming as a _yes_ anyway.

She has to resist the urge to groan, out of respect for her friend’s rank. But, _really_ , this is just ridiculous. So she says, “You know what, I’m going with you. I need to get my meds anyway. Clinic’s out.”

Tobin stops fiddling with the topmost button of her uniform jacket, catching Emily’s eyes through the mirror. “Oh, you’re coming with?”

“Yeah,” the younger woman declares, throws back a look that practically screams _try and dare to say something_.

Tobin lifts her shoulders as she shifts to primping the collar of her uniform, till it’s crisp and looking sharp. Though, she glances at Emily in between, wiggling her eyebrows at her. Because she’s _Tobin_ and she can’t help it. “You lookin’ out for the _people_ too, huh?”

“Oh _,_ I see,” Alex drones from her spot by the quarters’ windows, arching a brow at the both of them. “Pretty doctor?”

Tobin just smirks and cheekily sucks at her teeth, her gaze never leaving Emily’s face. While Emily looks like she’s debating whether or not smashing Tobin’s forehead against the mirror is worth all her years in the force.

Tobin’s smirk only grows into further teasing as she tells Alex, “There’s two. Even if _Sonny_ won’t admit it.”

“You really need to start watching your back, Captain,” Emily counters. “You never know who’d kick you out the next time we jump off a plane.”

The other woman only chuckles at the empty threat— _empty_ , because despite the silly things they love putting each other through, Emily’s one of the few people who Tobin _knows_ will always have her back (with the rest of them being in _this_ same room).

She opens her mouth to call her out on it, but she gets cut off by Ashlyn’s _three, actually._

There’s a gasp from one of the upper bunks, and the rustling of cloth against sheets. It’s Megan, who bolts from her bed and peeks below, shooting Ashlyn a glare that’s brimming with betrayal.

“Are you cheating on Ali?!”

Ashlyn finally looks away from her phone, and then scoots towards the edge of her bunk, glancing up and frowning at Megan. “What?”

Alex gasps too as she catches up to the very, very weird turn the conversation has shifted to. “Ashlyn?!”

“Will you two calm down,” Ashlyn says, rolling her eyes. “Ali’s fellowship came through. She started at Providence last week.”

Tobin snorts at the relief she sees washing over their two corporals. “It’s like you two don’t know how whipped Ash is.”

A strained sound escapes Ashlyn’s throat, but she refuses to dignify that claim with a response. A sound that Tobin takes and runs away with, snickering. And _oh_ , if only article eighty nine wouldn’t get her discharged from the force, she would totally kick Tobin’s ass.

...

 

Tobin arrives an hour earlier than the schedule Christen has given her—that she totally attributes to the sense of punctuality the army discipline has ingrained in her and _absolutely_ nothing else—glancing at the watch strapped around her wrist and eyeing it until it ticks to exactly one in the afternoon.

Still, she cranes her neck, scanning the crowd gathered in the lobby for the littlest sign of long black hair, the prettiest green eyes, the loveliest smile.

This is how Emily finds her, standing at the tips of her boots just as Emily’s walking back from the hospital’s pharmacy with a small brown paper bag clutched in her hand.

“Seen her yet?” She quizzes as she stuffs the paper bag inside one of her uniform pants’ many pockets.

Tobin falls back onto the balls of her feet, shaking her head.

“Maybe because she said two pm,” Emily tells her. Her shoulders lift into a too animated of a shrug, mouth slanting along with the gesture. “Just a thought.”

“What can I say? I like to be punctual,” ribs Tobin.

“ _Punctual_ is fifteen to thirty minutes early. This?” The younger woman then gestures at Tobin’s entire form. “This is _eager_. Or sad. Take your pick.”

“Neither.” Tobin smirks, absolutely refusing to let Emily win. “Try _smitten_.”

It morphs into a triumphant grin at the look that crosses Emily’s face, like Emily can’t quite decide if she’s disgruntled or disgusted that it ends up being a mix of both; laughs at the _Jesus, you’re too much_ that Emily hisses in her grimace.

“Think we should head to her floor?” Tobin asks as soon as her amusement passes and the repulsion twisting Emily’s face fades, skimming through the crowd again and sighing when she  finds nothing.

Emily’s shrugging a _might as well_ nonchalantly one second—really, the sooner they’re done with this, the less insufferable Tobin will be—but she’s dragging Tobin by her elbow the next, to a spot that’s somewhat shrouded by one of those tall, green, leafy plants in huge white pots.

The other woman just _has_ to ask at that. “Whoa, whoa, what’s got you so spooked?”

“Nothing,” Emily rasps. Her feet scurry to the side in little steps, though Tobin doesn’t miss the way she seems to duck and hide herself in front of her.

“You saw Kelley, didn’t you?”

“Elevator, my ten o’clock.” Emily grumbles with a begrudging nod, like she’s refusing to accept the fact that she did, or _worse_ , that Tobin is right and she did get _spooked_.

It’s credit to years and years of training and experience that Tobin doesn’t turn and let her curiosity win. She simply opens her mouth to press her friend about it, but quickly decides not to when she sees the uneasy frown that clenches Emily’s jaw, as if the mere sight of Kelley alone pains her more than any flesh wound ever has and ever will.

So, she just squeezes Emily’s shoulder, says, “Let’s go meet my doctor, huh?”

“How dare you,” Emily is quick to recover, feigning offense. But it lacks the usual _sting_ , though, Tobin chooses to pretend not to notice. “She was my doctor first.”

The grateful look she sends Tobin’s way is enough to tell Tobin otherwise.

...

 

Ten steps into the direction of the Emergency Room suite, Tobin finally, _finally_ spots the flash of black hair she’s been searching for.

She raises a hand to wave _hi_ , except, Christen isn’t looking up at all—and is she moving too fast?

She gets her answer from what she recognizes is Doctor Pugh’s voice, thundering enough to pave a path through the crowd despite her smaller form. “Clear the way please!”

The roll of wheels follow the squeak of the doctor’s shoes as she leads on pushing a gurney towards the set of elevators reserved for patients meant for moments exactly like this.

 _Like this_ , where she and three nurses are fighting for a patient’s life with their prudent hands and quick feet, and Christen’s precise and clear-cut instructions keeping the patient hanging on to life by a thicker thread.

Christen does it all while she’s perched on the moving bed, kneeling over an unconscious woman who seems to have stopped breathing. A sterile sponge is pressed against the woman’s bleeding chest, pinned firmly in place by Christen’s palm.

Tobin blinks as the gurney passes her and Emily by, astonishment mixing with disbelief as she watches Christen rip a surgical tubing pack open with her teeth, her free hand fishing the thin, transparent end of the tube contained inside.

“I need to do an emergency tracheotomy,” she hears Christen tell Doctor Pugh—and effectively everyone else—in a tone of voice that doesn’t break nor waver despite the rush of the speeding bed.

And even though Tobin doesn’t know what the hell that means, she figures it’s something that will save the woman’s life. It doesn’t even take Tobin one second to decide. She springs to her feet and dashes forward to catch up to the doctors, her hands darting out to wrap strong fingers around the railing at the foot of the bed as soon as she reaches them.

Emily, for her part, races ahead, parting the crowd to clear the way towards the row of elevators. “Move please, let them pass through!”

The added force helps push the gurney much faster through the now unhindered path, and it has the nurse right next to Tobin shooting her a shaky yet thankful smile.

But Tobin’s a little too occupied with watching Christen in awe to notice, let alone, return it. Granted, she can’t exactly see what Christen’s doing from her spot behind the doctor, save for the way Christen’s shoulders bounce and roll at every movement, and the tail of her natural curls swishing along with it.

Yet, it doesn’t stop Tobin from marveling at the sight—though, Tobin’s starting to think that she’d marvel at _anything_ and _everything_ about Doctor Christen Press—her mouth hanging slightly open at the scene that she’s beheld with: five nimble fingers working with extreme precision as more packets are torn, and the firm lilt of Christen’s tone as she directs Doctor Pugh to hold the sponge and put more pressure on the chest wound.

Tobin’s wonderment only grows when she hears a gasp fill the air, just as Christen has quickly bent closer towards the patient’s neck, like a lungful of breath being blown and sucked in after drowning for the longest time.

Then Christen says, in the gentlest tone of voice Tobin has ever heard. “Hi, I’m Doctor Christen Press. You’re going to be just fine.”

And Tobin feels her heart fall from its place, straight into Christen’s hands.

...

 

“That’s—” she breathes out as soon as the gurney is wheeled inside one of the waiting elevators. The doors close and she hears the gears whirring as it brings the lift up, yet, the awe that has dwelled on her face these last ten minutes still remains. (And, frankly, Tobin doesn’t really know if it will ever go away—doesn’t really know if she even wants it to.) “Wow.”

The bustle around them is just starting to die down, but it has mellowed enough for her to hear Emily snorting out a chortle. “And here you thought she was just some dumb intern that first day.”

“I’m gonna poke you on your stitches if you don’t _sto-o-op_ ,” Tobin singsongs then, tilting her head as a hand darts out to where Emily’s standing.

“Let’s go, Captain Heart Eyes,” the younger woman responds, with a smack that pushes Tobin’s hand far away from her abdomen. “We can wait for her at the waiting lounge.”

“Hmm,” Tobin hums. “That looks like it’s going to take a while, though.”

“So, tomorrow then?”

“Well,” she starts to say, nose scrunching in uncertainty. She tugs at an earlobe before cupping the back of her neck. “I was already planning something after I finish with Christen. _But_ , you might not like it.”

Emily’s mouth sets into a hard line as she stares at the older woman blankly. She has an inkling, yet, she still asks even though she knows her hunch can only be right. “What won’t I like?”

“I uhm—I kinda owe _someone_ a visit,” Tobin explains. She tries hard not to grimace, but she can feel the way her face twists, and knows she fails. “I’ve been here and back and I still haven’t said hi.”

Emily feels herself bristle, feels the walls she’s spent the better part of her year smashing down shoot back up in a snap. “Can’t you do that tomorrow?”

 _When I’m not here_ goes unsaid. She doesn’t need to.

“I can,” Tobin answers, surprisingly truthful. Yet, it’s followed by a pregnant pause that lasts longer than Emily would like; punctuated by a deep sigh that tells Emily she isn’t going to like whatever it is that Tobin’s going to say next. “But it’s been more than a year, Emily.”

More than a year of curbing the urge to reach out, out of loyalty and friendship.

More than a year of not— _never_ —talking about it.

More than a year of trying to pretend that her friendship with Kelley didn’t mean to her as much as her friendship with Emily does.

Emily looks away, looks as far away as she can—past Tobin’s shoulders and maybe all the way back to Ethiopia—thinking.

It’s not like Tobin’s right. It’s not like she has a choice.

(Well, she _has_ , she’s always have; but there’s a pull in her gut that churns at the thought of saying no.

Because even after a year, she’s still tied to Doctor Kelley O’Hara. Like rubber that snaps taut as it’s stretched further, hurling her right back to square one.)

“Fine,” Emily huffs out. She draws in a deep breath, steeling herself, then, says, “Let’s get it over with.”

...

 

Tobin steps into the Pediatrics Department with a stiff Emily on her heels, immediately spotting Kelley by the Nurses Station despite the throng of people milling around.

Kelley’s sitting on a swiveling chair, her back on them so she doesn’t notice the two soldiers right away. Only her white coat is visible, but Tobin will never mistake the golden brown hair that’s always been a little darker than Tobin’s own, falling in almost non-existent waves.

Kelley has an elbow propped against the table behind the U-shaped counter, her closed fist supporting the weight of her temple. She’s tapping a nameless tune with the pen resting loosely in between the thumb and index finger of her free hand, waiting for the scans to load on the screen she’s in front of.

By the time Tobin leans over the counter to place down the cup of coffee she’s grabbed from the cafeteria, it’s too late for Emily to make a run for it since Kelley is already jumping off the chair and rounding the station to meet the taller woman.

(Also, maybe because she can’t actually run or Doctor Press is going to kill her.

Or maybe it’s the smile on Kelley’s face, lighter and brighter than she last remembers, that freezes her completely.)

“Oh my God,” Kelley squeals, beaming as she throws her arms around Tobin’s neck. “Tobin! Is that really you?! I haven’t seen you in forever!”

Tobin chuckles in response. “I wouldn’t say forever, but,” she starts to say as she wraps lean arms around Kelley’s waist, locking the other woman in a you’ve-been-well-missed embrace. “I missed you too, Kell.”

Kelley pulls back, letting her eyes roam all over Tobin as she takes in the sight of her—the friend she once trusted her life with.

(Still does, _always_ does.)

“How have you been?” She asks. She sounds like she’s still in some state of disbelief, that her next words, she never gets to finish. “And how’s—”

It’s how Tobin knows that she’s finally seen Emily lingering around, judging by the way her eyes slide unabashedly towards Emily’s direction, staring wistfully at the woman who’s gotten good at pretending that she’s anywhere but near Kelley’s presence.

“Same old,” Tobin waves off with a shrug. “Though, I just got knifed, so I guess that’s new.”

 _That_ snaps Kelley back into attention. Her gaze slides back to the taller woman curiously, all too keen to hear the story.

She’s greeted with the sympathy on Tobin’s face, one that she’s always admired; kind and never judging, simply telling Kelley: _I know, just take your time_.

So, she clears her throat, folds her arms over her chest, and then quirks a teasing brow at Tobin. “Who did you piss off this time?”

“ _Ah_.” Tobin raises an index finger, pointing at Kelley once. “Official business.”

“Classified?”

“Highly. So…” She makes a gesture of zipping her lips shut, that coaxes a soft laugh from the smaller woman.

“I really did miss you, Tobs.”

“Likewise,” Tobin returns the sentiment with the same fondness she’s always had for Kelley; even flicks Kelley on her forehead—albeit lightly—just like she used to do.

A whine escapes her throat as Kelley swats the hand away. “Tobin!”

Tobin just grins, taking comfort in the fact that despite _everything_ , not much has changed. Kelley is still the Kelley she knows.

...

 

She’s is in the middle of recounting how their stint in Ethiopia ended three months after Kelley flew back to the US—and that Samuel and Gelila have been going diligently to school since then—when they get interrupted by a loud _ding_ , followed by a nurse calling Kelley’s name.

(“I know about Samuel and Gelila,” Kelley tells her, smiling fondly at the mention of their names, of the two children she once saved. “We exchange letters.”

Tobin beams at her, clearly surprised. “Really? That’s awesome!”)

“Doctor O’Hara? The scans are ready.”

Kelley twists around to nod her acknowledgement. “Thanks, Nurse Long.”

She returns her attention to the other woman, her face scrunching up in apology. “I just need to look at the scans for five minutes. Don’t go yet.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Tobin assures.

She takes that chance to throw a quick glance towards Emily as soon as Kelley’s back is on her, and finds her engrossed with studying the various pictures and drawings tacked on the department’s _Kids’ Wall_.

(Kelley’s idea, Tobin is a hundred percent sure.)

Tobin very much wants to call her back, because a part of her suddenly misses the way the three of them were before and it _aches_. But she knows Emily like the back of her own hand, knows that forcing her while she’s caught off guard is tearing the already slim chance into shreds that they’d never be able to piece together ever again.

So Tobin lets her be, and fixes her attention back to Kelley when she hears her speak. “This kid has a hole in his heart,” Kelley explains without any prompting. Her voice fades a little as she walks back to her table. In turn, Tobin follows her, though she doesn’t step past the counter. “It’s pretty bad, and his previous doctor says a transplant is the only solution. But I _know_ it’s not. I can fix it.”

“Well,” the taller woman begins, leaning against the marble countertop. “If anyone can cure that kid, it’s you.”

“ _Awww_ , Tobs,” Kelley coos with a giggle that bubbles up and out of her throat. “Still my number one cheerleader.”

“What? It’s the truth.”

…

 

(And yet—

 _How ironic_ , Emily can’t help but think as she wanders closer towards the exit and farther from Kelley—farther from the soft, deep mellow of Kelley’s voice that dredges memories filled with coffee in thermos cup lids and late nights; farther from the weight of Kelley’s stares that she can feel on her shoulders—that she’s finding the perfect way to fix a hole in some kid’s heart when she left a gaping one in hers.)

…

 

Kelley drops her chin, hiding the flush heating her cheeks. She purses her lips and waves the compliment off. “I just really want to do right by him, you know? I want him to go back to being a kid again and not worry if he’s ever getting a new heart or not.”

Tobin’s answering smile is both proud and tender, because Kelley _really_ hasn’t changed at all. “I know. And I know you can do it.”

“Thanks, Captain Heath,” Kelley quips, though her gratitude is nothing but heartfelt.

“Come on, none of that,” Tobin chides her. “We’ve talked about this so many times.”

Kelley just sucks at her teeth, the tip of her tongue darting out at the corner of her mouth cheekily. “I know. But I’ve also ignored it every time.”

“Seriously,” Tobin lets out a sigh, feigning exasperation. “What am I gonna do with you and Emily? You’re both five year olds.”

“You’re one to talk,” Kelley scoffs. But at the mention of Emily’s name, her gaze trains towards Emily’s direction once more, catching her bottom lip in between her teeth at the sight of Emily’s back turned at her.

“She’s okay, though?” She can’t help but ask. “I mean, she—her recent surgery isn’t bothering her?”

Yet, Tobin doesn’t miss the real question hidden behind her words. “I think,” she starts, then, pauses, catching Kelley’s eyes. “You need to ask her that, Kell.”

The smaller woman can only heave a deep breath, nodding once and it’s stiff.

They fall into silence then—because despite their friendship, there’s still an entire year that remains to be filled, a gap that has so many things that might have changed in between that neither of them knows how to ask—until Tobin drums her palms against the marble counter when she feels the weight of it drop on her shoulders. “Anyway, we should probably go.”

“Oh,” Kelley mumbles. She tries not to let the way her face falls show, but ultimately finds it hard to reign it in. “Okay.”

Tobin leans over the counter and squeezes the smaller woman’s shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger, alright?”

“I won’t.”

She playfully narrows her eyes, as if she’s gauging the sincerity on Kelley’s face. “I mean it, O’Hara.”

“I won’t!” The doctor chuckles. “I’ll even give you my number. Hand me your phone.”

Tobin fishes the device from the chest pocket of her uniform jacket, placing it on Kelley’s outstretched palm after she’s unlocked it.

Kelley taps and swipes a few times before typing in her ten-digit number. She returns the phone back to Tobin, who chuckles at the name shown on the screen, and the memories that it subsequently brings.

 _Worms_.

“You still remember, huh?”

Kelley shrugs in lieu of a teasing smirk. “Some names just grow on you.”

Tobin tucks her phone back in, and then slides both her hands in each of her pants’ pockets. She cocks her head, gesturing at her second lieutenant who’s leaning against the wall closest to the department’s doorway. “Emily and I are off, I guess.”

“Okay,” Kelley says. “Catch up with you some time?”

Tobin flashes her a huge grin, already feeling giddy at the idea. “I’ll hold you to that.” She turns to leave, but double takes, as if suddenly remembering something. “Oh, and can you let Doctor Press know I stopped by?”

“Sure! I’ll let her know as soon as I see her.”

The captain gives her one last nod, then turns again, leaving for real this time.

Kelley watches her tap Emily on the shoulder, signalling for them to go. Though, before Emily can even step out of the doorway completely—and disappear from her life for what she fears may be forever—she calls out, “Emily!”

It’s a little bit hard for her to admit that it stings way more than a slap when Emily takes three seconds too long to look at her—three seconds of perhaps debating whether or not to acknowledge Kelley’s existence at all—and then says, “Can I help you, Doctor O’Hara?”

Kelley swallows visibly, smiling nervously despite the unreadable expression on Emily’s face. “Take care of yourself, ‘kay? And don’t forget to take your meds.”

“Thank you for the concern,” answers Emily, aloof and distant. _Formal_ , as if she’s never felt the warmth of Kelley’s hand in hers, or the weight of Kelley’s head on her chest; never knew what it was like to kiss Kelley with tears wetting her cheeks. “But you don’t need to remind me.”

Slowly, Kelley sinks back to her seat, all the while watching Emily’s back as she walks away.

…

 

Once they get back to base, Tobin doesn’t head straight to the clinic. Not when Alex is sneaking antsy glances at her every five seconds, like she’s just buying her time before asking more about the pretty doctor who has their captain under her spell.

But when she does, Tobin all but threatens the new nurse named Rose to never let anyone know that she’s been there. “Off the record,” Tobin grunts as the nurse tapes a new dressing over her wound. “I was never here, got it?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Nurse Rose obediently follows, voice trembling at the pointed stare being sent her way. Though, thankfully, her hands stay steady until it’s all done.

The captain’s phone rings just as she’s twisting the knob of the clinic’s door open. It’s an unknown number, so she answers it with a cautious tone. “Hello?”

“ _Captain Heath?_ ” She hears from the other end. “ _It’s Christen_.”

Tobin, in turn, bites at her lip to smother the grin that almost breaks out upon hearing Christen’s voice. “Hey, you! Are you out of surgery?”

“ _Yeah. Kelley told me you stopped by_?”

“I did,” she confirms. She steps out of the clinic and pulls the door close slowly, careful not to make a sound; even angles the phone away so that the lightest _click_ won’t reach Christen’s ears. “And you know, I’ve never really been stood up by a doctor.”

“ _I’m sorry,_ ” Christen apologizes, and Tobin doesn’t need to see her to picture the way she’s pursed her lips into a pout. “ _It was an emergency_.”

The captain continues to walk down the hallway, sneaking quietly past their designated quarters—so that Alex won’t notice—and out of the base’s front doors. “Did she live?”

“ _What?_ ”

“Your patient,” clears Tobin. She wanders aimlessly out the spacious yard, boots scrunching against the ground. Though, she makes sure that she dawdles at an inconspicuous spot, one that’s out of the way just in case patrol starts. “Did she make it?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Christen breathes out her relief, like she herself can’t believe it. “ _Thank God, she did. We were able to save her._ ”

Tobin’s unable to stop her grin when she says, “For the record, I never doubted you for one bit.” Even though she knows perfectly well that Christen can’t see.

“ _You did_ , _actually,_ ” Christen points out. But the captain can hear the laugh in her tone, so she doesn’t take offense.

“Oh yeah? When?” She asks— _dares_ even.

“ _That day you brought Emily to the hospital_ ,” the doctor states, matter-of-factly. “ _You thought I was an intern, remember?_ ”

The other woman sucks in a sharp breath, feigning a gasp. “In my defense, you really looked too young and too beautiful to be more than just an intern.”

She hears a low, husky _oh my God_ from the other line, followed by _there’s no stopping you, is there_ that gets her chuckling.

Then, they’re quiet for a while, but it isn’t uncomfortable. Tobin continues to meander around, content on listening to Christen’s calm breaths on the other end. Until she spots the jeep she owns and an idea hits her. “What if I say that I’d love to see you tonight?”

Christen chuckles heartily at that, the sound ringing all over the line and making Tobin’s heart turn over beneath her chest. Then, _“I’d say, really, are you always this direct?”_

“When you get stabbed, it puts some things into perspective.”

“ _It wasn’t even life-threatening_ ,” the doctor teases. “ _Besides, it was not a stab._ ”

“Eh, semantics,” Tobin waves off. She jogs to where her jeep is parked, propping a hand over the roof once she reaches it. “You can tell me the difference over dinner.”

“ _Dinner? But it’s already eleven._ ”

“Late dinner then?”

“ _Are you sure_?”

Tobin gets the feeling that Christen thinks she’s kidding. So she hops inside her jeep, slams the car door a little louder for Christen to hear before speaking again. “How does pizza sound?”

“ _With the day I had?_ ” Christen asks back. But Tobin can tell from the giddy sound of her voice that she’s smiling, too. “ _Amazing_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for reading! hmu @ geekmythologys.tumblr.com, we can both scream about how hnnngg dr. christen press is


	5. v.

It’s chilly by the time she pulls up to Portland Pres, Tobin can tell by the thin sheet of fog that blurs her windshield briefly the moment she turns the engine off. 

It’s even colder when she hops out of her jeep (enough to make herself question if it was a good idea at all, to do _this_ at this time of the night).

Tobin rubs her hands together for some semblance of heat, blowing hot air through the small crevice in between her thumbs as she rounds her jeep to where she can get spotted easily. She leans against the vehicle and pockets both of her fists inside her black leather jacket, craning her neck as she whistles and waits for Christen to step out of the hospital’s glass sliding doors.

She spots her five minutes later, in the middle of a tune that sounds so impressively close to _We Will Rock You_ (and if anyone asks if not seeing any sign of Christen in between those minutes had her sweating out in uncertainty, she’s absolutely going to say _no_ ). 

Christen’s in a pair of black jeans and a sleeveless black top that falls a little past her hips, with a denim jacket folded over an arm, waiting to be worn. It feels a little different to see her outside of her scrubs, but Tobin isn’t complaining, _at all_.

There’s a backpack hooked low on her shoulders that Tobin only notices when Christen—who’s still blissfully unaware of the captain’s presence—starts stretching both her hands upwards, palms up and reaching the sky, then twists her waist from side to side.

The purple bag sways along with the doctor’s movements. Tobin chuckles at the sight, though the way the big loose curls cascade and bounce against Christen’s shoulders has her swallowing thickly.

Christen leans on the tips of her shoes for one last stretch, and a deep breath that recenters and anchors her to the present moment—a habit she’s unknowingly picked up after tough nights back when she was still on her internship, and has stayed with her since.

Tobin gives her _that_ space, only pushing herself off of the jeep when Christen drops her hands down and shrugs her denim jacket on; fixes the maroon snapback perched on her head as she makes her way to the other woman.

She stops a few steps away, then, speaks, “For a second there, I thought you were going to stand me up again.”

Christen’s response is a startled screech (that _admittedly_ hurt Tobin’s ears, making her wince), but it’s the frightened look on Christen’s face that has Tobin cracking up.

“Sorry, oh gosh I’m so sorry,” she says, each word punctuated by breathless laughs.

“Don’t scare me like that!” Christen yells, punching Tobin’s shoulder in retaliation. “ _Tobin!_ ”

Christen hits her a second time, but Tobin’s laugh only grows louder.

.

 

She sobers up at the purse of Christen’s lips, the arch of Christen’s brow chasing the remnants of her laughter away as she clears her throat. Then, “Let’s go get pizza, huh?”

“That depends,” Christen huffs. “Are you going to be like this all night?”

Tobin presses her lips together, only letting one corner of her mouth quirk upwards as she shakes her head. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Christen gazes at her for a good long second, seemingly debating whether or not to believe Tobin at all, and _actually_ thinking of just going home and leaving her here. But she just mumbles a quick _okay_ in the end, much to Tobin’s absolute relief, before traipsing past her and out of the hospital’s patio.

The captain follows dutifully, falling into steps with the other woman to lead her towards her jeep.

Tobin jerks the passenger seat’s door open, and extends a hand to help Christen hop on inside. Though, while she watches Christen buckle herself in, she can’t help but tell her, “You have a very, very cute scared face, by the way.”

Christen closes her eyes, expelling a resigned sigh. “Just get inside before I change my mind.”

“You wouldn’t!”

Tobin honestly would’ve toned it down, if she didn’t catch the ghost of a shy smile on Christen’s lips as she looks out to where she thinks Tobin can’t see.

...

  


_Pi_ is a simple four-cornered restaurant along the busier streets of Downtown Portland, about twenty minutes away from Providence Pres. Tobin spends most of the drive glancing amusedly at Christen, whose shoulders do tiny dances the moment some upbeat music blares through the jeep’s speakers.

Tobin pulls up at the small parking lot, rounding the vehicle to meet Christen, who’s about to jump—yes, _jump_ —off of the vehicle. She quickly lends a hand again, effectively stopping Christen from doing so, and helps the other woman to step out instead.

They follow the short cobbled path leading towards the restaurant’s front door in comfortable silence, with the captain matching the doctor’s steps.

Until Tobin says, “I’m just curious.”

“Curious?” Christen repeats, skepticism coloring her tone as a brow quirks along with her next words. “You look like you’re dying to tease me again. It’s written all over your face.”

“What do you mean?” Tobin tilts her head, all innocent and _harmless_. “It’s just a pretty face.”

She puffs her cheeks and crumples her nose, looking closely akin to a squirrel that it makes Christen snort with laughter. “Fine. Go ahead.”

Tobin huffs the air out, then, “Where did you learn this?” She moves her shoulders, mimicking the way Christen danced in the jeep on their way here.

Christen, in turn, shoves her on the shoulder playfully. “Shut up.”

Tobin’s eyes are still crinkled with laughter as they reach the front door. A bell rings when she pulls it open, quickly followed by a low, nasally voice coming from further inside. “Be with you in a minute!”

Christen steps in despite what they’ve just been told, her interest clearly piqued. She’s been in this part of the city a lot of times, but she has never noticed nor heard of the place.

 _Pi_ has a very hole in the wall feel to it that Christen absolutely appreciates. A good number of tables fill the space in the center, while the short counter is pressed against the wall. There are one or two servers milling around, though everyone inside the quaint place seems to have all their heads down, dining.

Tobin almost bumps into her as she waltzes inside, occupied with trying to find her favorite spot. It’s at the innermost part of the restaurant, where the only tables are four booths all lined up, and the only source of light are the string lights hanging above them. The walls surrounding the space follow Van Gogh’s Starry Night theme, with some sort of paint trick that makes it seem like the stars twinkle whenever they’re hit with light. Closing it is a line of one-sided—she knows; she’s checked _and_ double checked—glass windows.

(It’s easily the best spot; cozy and fairly private, just how Tobin likes it.)

“I don’t think there are any seats left,” Christen says, eyes roaming around, and then facing the other woman for confirmation.

She gets it from the slump of Tobin’s shoulders as she stares at the occupied tables dejectedly.  “ _Nooo._ I really wanted to get you to try the pizza here.”

“I’m sorry, but we’re full right now,” the nasally voice floats from somewhere beside Christen now. When both women turn, they’re greeted by a middle-aged woman with a genial face.

 _Anne_ , her name tag reads.

Tobin sighs; sucks at her teeth, thinking. 

“We can go somewhere else?” Christen offers with a smile, in hopes that it will win Tobin over, and the dejected look in her eyes will fade.

And yet, when Tobin trains her gaze back to Christen, her eyes twinkling this time, Christen feels like she’s the one won who’s been over. 

“You know what,” Tobin tells her.

“What?” Rasps the other woman. “What is it?”

“You just gave me a great idea,” the captain answers before turning to face Anne again. “Can we get two small boxes to go, and two coffees, please?”

Anne smiles kindly at her, pulling her pad out to jot down their orders. “Sure! I’ll ring you up.”

...

  


They’re back in the jeep when Christen asks again, “Do you _really_ have a great idea?”

“I do!”

“Really?” Christen tilts her head, feigning an unimpressed look. “What is it, then?”

Tobin simply shoots her a wink and lets out a short, playful laugh. “I won’t tell. You’ll just have to trust me.”

Christen purses her lips, completely not used to not getting her way when it comes to Tobin’s antics. But in the end, she just shakes her head, bites on her bottom lip before finally answering. “Surprisingly, I do.”

And, _yes_ , she really, _really_ does.

...

  


Tobin takes the left curve leading to the top of the city’s higher hills, with a still clueless Christen on the passenger seat. She pulls up on the next free space she spots, somewhere around Haywood Garden, while below them, the city’s bright lights sparkle like a sea of stars.

A park. A park is Tobin’s _great_ idea.

And it’s beautiful.

Tobin unclips her seatbelt, prompting Christen to do the same. She hops down excitedly, jerking the backseat door open to grab the pizzas, and then sets them down at the edge of the vehicle’s hood, where it’s completely cooled. She waits for Christen to get out, too, balancing the cups of coffee on top of the boxes.

She takes that moment to suck in a lungful of fresh air, practically beaming when she tells Christen. “I haven’t been here in a while.”

Christen’s shoes crunch against the ground as she walks to stand near Tobin. “I’ve never seen it like this at night,” she says, sounding breathless, with the mere sight of the city looking so alive taking the air away.

Tobin frees a hand, running a knuckle on the underside of her nose, and then picks up the boxes again.  “Come on. You’ll love this more.”

She walks towards the row of benches overlooking the city, but only to set the cups of coffee down on the nearest empty surface. She steps right to the safety railing next, propping her arms against the topmost horizontal pole. 

Christen doesn’t follow her right away. So Tobin throws her a grin over her shoulder and cocks her head in gesture. “You gotta see the view below.”

The other woman bites her lip as she runs a hand up her denim-clad shoulder and down to her elbow. “Isn’t that too close to the edge?”

“Nah. It’s totally fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Tobin’s answering smile is kind and reassuring. “I promise.”

“Okay.” Christen nods, and then strides down carefully, until she reaches the spot right next to the captain. Tobin hands her one of the boxes, which she accepts with a shy thanks.

Feeling a little more at ease at the sight of a still wide space between the railing and the hill’s edge, Christen finally permits herself to look around. Up the sky and then down, sighing happily at the serene air that wraps around her. 

“I honestly didn’t have any idea that Portland has spots like this,” she marvels, lifting the lid of the pizza box, though her eyes barely stray away from the view. “How did you even find it?”

Tobin looks up at Christen mid-chew, swallowing her bite before answering. “I like to drive around at night, especially when I uh—I’m finding it hard to sleep.”

Christen can feel that there’s more to it than just sleep being plain evasive, with the way Tobin stutters. She wants to ask _why_ , driven by the sudden urge to know all the things that keep Tobin up at night. 

But she doesn’t, not when the other woman busies herself with digging through her slice again just to avoid Christen’s curious eyes.

“Well, it’s been known that driving around helps most people calm down,” Christen blurts out, filling the awkward silence. “Like, _scientifically_.”

Tobin starts with a chuckle, and teases her in between. “You’re such a doctor.”

The other woman grins wide, showing the curves by her cheeks that Tobin has to resist tracing with her fingers. “Yes, and a good one at that.”

“It’s not nice to brag, Doctor.”

Christen presses her lips together in response, trying not to laugh at the false chiding written all over Tobin’s frown. But she does anyway—hard even, dissolving into a laughter that rings all over the empty space.

Tobin narrows her eyes at her in turn, feigning offense, and hoping that the way her heart tugs at the sound doesn’t show on her face. “What are you laughing at?”

Christen laughs and laughs and laughs, that Tobin’s expression morphs into amusement by the time she trickles down into soft giggles.

“Your face,” Christen answers when she can finally speak. “You have a very funny face.”

“Oh, do I?” The captain says. She shifts her pizza box to her other hand and drops the one that’s been pinning it to place, right in the small space between them before scooting closer, her face barely an inch or two away from Christen’s.

Christen, in turn, pulls back a little. But it’s only just so she can see Tobin properly. She meets her eyes head on, returning the stare that the captain is giving.

Though, her gaze moves on its own, glancing down just as Tobin’s tongue pokes out and wets her lips in a quick swipe. It stays there for five pounding heartbeats—Christen _knows_ because she can hear each _lub-dub_ in her head—so she misses the playful glint flashing in Tobin’s eyes. 

And in a move that Christen doesn’t see coming, Tobin lifts her free hand, running a curved palm from Christen’s forehead down to her chin swiftly.

She doesn’t resist throwing her head back as she laughs, watching the ensuing startled scrunch pull on Christen’s face, and the confused scrunch of her nose as she squeals. “Tobin!”

...

  


When the food’s all gone and the air on their spot has gotten even more chilly, they move back to the jeep. 

Tobin hops on first on top of the sleek black hood, using the footrest as a makeshift stirrup. She helps Christen next, maneuvering until the doctor is settled comfortably right beside her.

The gentle wind blows, and Christen welcomes it with her eyes closed, feeling the draft blow wisps of her hair and cool her skin. It’s one of her favorite things, feeling the breeze on her face, because there is something just so calming about the wind ruffling her hair; the contrast of the wind’s coolness against her body’s warmth as they meet on her skin.

She shifts on the hood, uncrossing her legs, and leans back to drop her weight on the windshield. She closes her eyes again just as another gentle breeze passes by. The air that hits her when she sucks a lungful is refreshing; she smiles. It’s been a while.

.

 

As the wind dies down, she blinks her eyes open, then asks, “Do you have a favorite place? Out of all the ones you’ve been to?”

She feels more than sees Tobin recline next to her before answering. “There was a cliff near our base in Afghanistan. It was low and the bottom was surrounded by thick trees, but I could see the sea whenever I looked down. And the stars, too, if I looked up. Kinda like this.”

Christen turns her head, looking at the other woman quizzically, because she was expecting something like Greece, or somewhere equally _touristy_. “Yeah?”

The captain sighs; it’s deep, Christen notes. “I used to watch them with Laila most nights.”

Christen only nods in answer. She doesn’t ask who _Laila_ is exactly; figures it isn’t really her place. Though, she can’t help but wonder if it was someone Tobin had spent those nights with.

A pang of ache squeezes her heart at the mere thought; _nameless_ , yet so strong and so sudden that she almost wants to gasp for air.

But Tobin has finally managed to tear her eyes away from the glimmering sky before she gets the chance; and she’s now looking at Christen with sad eyes and a lopsided smile.

“She uhm—she died when she was sixteen,” the captain continues. “We’d just ended a rebel siege, but there were mortars we didn’t see coming.”

Oh. _Oh_.

The ache in her chest subsides just as quickly as it has appeared. Christen feels herself answer with an understanding smile of her own, and then lets her hand close the small distance between hers and Tobin’s, the pad of her thumb running comforting circles on the inside of Tobin’s wrist. “I’d love to hear all about her.”

Tobin covers Christen’s hand with her own, squeezing tightly in gratitude. “She was so smart.”

She shifts her attention back to the sky; Christen wordlessly follows her gaze.

“She tried teaching me the constellations, but I couldn’t even manage to memorize one,” Tobin says. She pauses, then lets out a soft laugh, as if recalling another memory. “She tried showing me the Big Dipper, but I really couldn’t picture it. I sucked so hard.”

“Don’t worry. That makes two of us,” says Christen as her own soft laugh joins Tobin’s.

“Really?”

“Mhmm.”

They settle into a comfortable silence; a spell that Christen doesn’t really want to break. Not when she finds peace while lying next to Tobin on the hood of Tobin’s jeep, in the middle of an almost empty space, and Tobin’s hand still covering hers.

Then, Christen says, “They’re beautiful, though, right?”

Slowly, Tobin turns her head to look at her. But Christen’s too transfixed with the full moon that pours the perfect hue to meet her eyes.

It’s casting a light yellow glow now, and it hits Christen just right that all Tobin can think of to say is, “Yeah.”

Her eyes grow fond, and so does her smile. “Beautiful.”

…

  


Their night ends, eventually.

It ends when Tobin walks Christen to her apartment complex, a soft smile blooming on her lips as she speaks. “I guess this is you.” 

Christen stretches her right hand out, gesturing at the double doors. “This is me.” Though, her hands are shaking from a whole _new_ kind of warmth that has nothing to do with the coffee she’s finished earlier that takes over her completely. “Thank you for this. You really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

The doctor’s eyes become tender, and there’s a smile on her face that she’s sure will stick until the morning comes. She leans on her toes, pressing a quick kiss on Tobin’s cheek. “I’m glad you did.”

…

  


The smile does stick until morning, though Christen doesn’t really know if it’s from the night she spent with Tobin that’s never really left her mind, or the remnants of her dream of sitting side by side with Tobin on some bench while watching the falling stars illuminate the sky.

The first thing she does upon shaking what’s left of her sleep away is to pick her phone up, but the smile droops a little when the screen lights and yet, there’s _nothing_.

Christen doesn’t think much of it, because it’s still six in the morning and maybe Tobin is still asleep.

She sits up, pulling her knees close to her chest so that she can rest her chin above where her knees meet. She winds both her arms around her legs, hands meeting in front and middle of her, and lets her phone hang loosely from her grip as she thinks of sending the first message instead, to express her gratitude for Tobin’s sweet gesture.

 _Good morning_ , she starts to type, _thank you for the pizza last night <3 _

Christen bites her lip, debating whether or not to let the heart emoji stay. She doesn’t want to come on too strong, but Tobin just brings about a _certain_ calm and easiness with her that has managed to make Christen forget, that they’ve really only just met.  

In the end, she decides to play it safe. She taps on delete twice, then adds, _I’ll see you later!_

It takes her a good long second of reading and rereading the same message before she hits send, and then sets her phone back on the nightstand afterwards. 

The sheets rustle as Christen moves, or more like hops—literally _hops_ —out of bed, and stretches her arms upwards until the toes on her feet curl.

It’s another beautiful day to save lives.

…

  


There’s a noticeable bounce in her steps when she joins Kelley for breakfast at the hospital’s cafeteria; a tradition they unknowingly started just weeks after they met, more than a year ago.

“Why do you look too excited for work,” Kelley says, practically whining. She presses the heel of her palm on her eyes, rubbing the remnants of sleep away. “I’m not even completely up yet.”

“I _don’t_ look too excited for work,” Christen retorts. She pushes the other cup of coffee she got in front of the smaller woman; an extra cup that she knows Kelley will need to get her through the day. “And what happened to you? Rough night?”

Kelley covers her mouth as she lets out a yawn, then answers. “I stayed up last night.”

“Why _?_ You went home before I did.”

“Do you remember my patient? The kid with a hole in his heart?”

Christen hums in affirmation. “I do. He’s really sweet.”

“And I told you that I know exactly how to fix it?”

“I remember that part, especially,” the other woman says, teasing. “Since you spent half of the time mad about the _dumbass_ doctor who said the only cure was a transplant.”

Kelley smiles at her in response, but it’s too sweet to be genuine. “He was. _Is_. Anyway,” she starts to say. She reaches for her cup, takes three scalding sips (she’s loving the burn today; at least something _else_ hurts other than the words Emily last left her with), before plucking out the brown folder she has stuck inside her bag.

“You know how I’ve been consulting with Doctor Krieger, right? For the best approach?”

“Yup,” Christen replies. And she can’t help but let out a dreamy smile when her mind goes to the cardiothoracic surgeon, the recent addition to their team of doctors.

(Honestly, it was a blessing that Doctor Lloyd retired.)

“I told Ali that I wanted to explain to his parents why he would no longer need a transplant,” Kelley continues. “I wanted to show them how I’d do it, but the scans don’t really cut it? She told me that during her last medical mission in Burundi, she used to ask her wife to help her draw her procedures because most of her patients didn’t understand English. And so...” 

She flips the folder open, revealing a stack of papers with sketches on each. “I drew these. I figured they’re better than the scans, right?”

Christen’s eyes grow soft as she stares at her friend, pride and warmth and everything else _good_ filling her chest. “You’re a good person, Kell. Noah’s parents couldn’t have picked a better doctor.”

...

  


(Except, Kelley thinks, maybe she’s _not_. Not entirely, at least. Not when part of the reason why she opted to stay up was seeing the stoic look on Emily’s face every time she closes her eyes.)

…

  


It’s eleven forty-two am when Christen looks at her phone again. She’s just coming out of a surgery, and she hasn’t had the chance to check for two hours.

Christen doesn’t even pretend that the hopeful smile _doesn’t_ fall from her face as she shoves the phone back inside the pocket of her white coat, ignoring the ache of _no new anything_ that creeps on her chest.

…

  


Lunch is just her alone, and a phone that never beeps or buzzes keeping her company.

…

  


The clock at her apartment hits ten pm; she almost, _almost_ deletes Tobin’s number. 

They had a wonderful night, Christen thinks they really did, so she doesn’t understand how her phone has zero messages from Tobin, no calls or reply; and why there was no Tobin in sight when the clock had hit two pm.

But she remembers the way Tobin smiled at her that night, the crinkle in her eyes as she laughed, the way her cheeks flushed when Christen tucked the unruly locks of hair underneath her snapback.

And she realizes, she just _can’t_.

So Christen sighs, buries her phone under a multitude of pillows, and tries not to think about Captain Tobin Heath for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took a while! i was hella distracted by wwc XD hope you guys enjoy this one! hmu @ geekmythologys.tumblr.com


	6. vi.

It’s been a week, and Christen is starting to think that she has just conjured Captain Tobin Heath from a dream.

It’s starting to feel like the night they spent at Haywood Garden is a moment she pulled from the cusp of a deep sleep, when nothing really seems real and _everything_ is in some sort of strange time vacuum between midnight and going home. 

She barely looks at her phone anymore by day three, and has stopped checking it altogether when Saturday hits and her back to back shift just got past its twenty-ninth hour mark.

Kelley is sprawled halfway on their usual cafeteria table, warming the cool surface with a cheek. She’s barely able to stretch her tired arms by the time Christen arrives to meet her, feeling like they’re made of lead.

“God,” Christen breathes out as she plops down the chair unceremoniously. “My feet are killing me.”

Kelley tilts her head to look up at Christen. The other woman has been a little short staffed for the past two days, and Kelley—being the good friend that she is—volunteered to run the ER with her.

(A back to back shift though, was totally out of their agreement, but Kelley doesn’t have the heart to leave Christen all by herself either.) 

Christen shuffles on her seat and leans forward, placing the cup of ice cold coffee just a few inches away from Kelley’s forehead.

 _Ice cold_ , because they don’t have the luxury to sit back and enjoy steaming ones.

“Please tell me this is espresso.”

“Doubleshot,” states Christen, sounding quite pleased with herself. “We still have four hours to go.”

Kelley lifts herself off the table with a groan. Her eyes still droop close even as the icy feeling spreads through the hand she wraps around the coffee cup, and the cold liquid hits her tongue the moment she takes the first sip.

There’s a red mark on her cheek—from when she has it pressed against the table—that makes Christen wonder how long she’s been lying down like that.

“I'm so glad I chose Peds,” Kelley says in between sips. “If I had to stop one more drunk grown ass man from crying, I’m going to scream.”

Christen lets go of the straw in her own drink, smacks her lips together, and says, “Welcome to my daily life.”

Kelley _hmms_ , swallowing a particularly large sip; then, she smirks, teasing. “Tobin must’ve been a welcomed break then, huh?”

 _Her_ name feels so foreign, even coming from Kelley’s mouth. Christen scowls at that, despite not really knowing why. “What do you mean?”

Kelley pulls back a little, surprised at the way the other woman seems to bristle. “I mean, it’s not every day that you get to treat soldiers. So it’s… I don’t know, different?”

The frown on Christen’s face eases off, but she still can’t seem to meet Kelley’s eyes. So she lets her gaze settle on the bendy straw of her cold tea, fingers holding the bent part as she stirs. “It was just once, and she didn’t come back. I wouldn’t know.”

It’s Kelley’s face that scrunches this time, tilting her head as she studies Christen; looks at her like she’s _sure_ they’re talking about something deeper now. “Did something happen?”

“ _Ugh_ , stupid Tobin,” Christen continues to a grumble, pointedly ignoring Kelley’s question. There isn’t much to the story anyway. She met Tobin and didn’t like her guts, became friends with Tobin, liked the way Tobin smiles, hated the empty, haunted look in her eyes _that_ night, loved the way she laughs—

She slams the half-empty plastic cup on the table, and then gathers her wilding hair into a quick bun. “Come on, break’s over.”

Kelley gets to her feet, her wheelies squeaking against the smooth floor as she runs to catch up to a speed-walking Christen. She wants to ask what _just_ happened, but Christen’s jaw is clenched in a way that Kelley thinks will get her head bitten off the moment she does. So, Kelley just wisely keeps her mouth shut.

Though, that doesn’t mean she can’t ask Tobin, and lets the thumb of her hand farthest from Christen’s sight fire a text to the other woman.

...

 

Second Lieutenant Sonnett steps inside the ER department with bated breaths, the sound of wary steps blending with the faint buzz of the floor as it fills the air.

The Nurses Station is in sight, but the lone person behind it makes her halt completely. 

Doctor O’Hara is standing by the counter’s curve, tapping away at the computer. She looks busy, Emily notes—when Emily finally allows herself to _really_ look at Kelley— _different_ ; lighter without a protective vest on, and like she fits in this kind of environment more than she ever did in sandy camps and makeshift tents.

She looks so far from the Kelley she knew, and yet still the same; the same good mischief in her freckled smile and the fire in her eyes.

Emily almost turns around and leaves when the sight of Kelley gets too much. But her feet roots her on the ground, anchored by duty. She lets the sense of it fill the air in her lungs as she walks forward, expelling _Kelley O’Hara_ out of her system in one breath.

“Excuse me, Doctor O’Hara.”

Kelley turns at the sound of her name. And despite the impassiveness that Emily greets her with, she fights it with a smile that reaches her eyes. “Emily, hi!”

“I’m looking for Doctor Press. Is she here?”

“She’s just checking up on a patient right now,” Kelley answers, jerking a shaky thumb over her shoulder. “Do you uhm, do you need something? I can do it instead.”

Emily shakes her head, _once_. “I’ll just wait for her.”

“Oh,” Kelley mumbles. And no matter how much she tries to hide the way her face falls—disguising it with a lopsided smile—it still shows. “Okay. I’ll let her know as soon as she’s done with Mrs Lance.”

“Thank you.”

Emily wheels around and Kelley can only stare at her retreating back; hates how she’s seen more of it and not even one smile on Emily’s face.

…

 

It’s ten minutes later when Christen finally approaches the younger woman.

(Ten minutes of trying not to sneak a glance at Kelley’s way and failing miserably at it.)

“Hey, Emily! Kelley said you were looking for me?”

“Yeah,” Emily replies. She stands from the couch and hands a brown Manila envelope to the doctor. “I just need your signature to get back on service.”

Christen, in turn, flips the seal flap open and fishes the paper inside. It’s a checklist, she realizes, as her eyes skim through it. “Well, I need to do some tests first.” 

She smiles at Emily’s answering nod, and continues. “But if it all checks out, then I’ll give you the all clear.”

She taps Emily on the elbow, gesturing for her to follow. Christen leads the younger woman to one of the empty beds, and then slides the bay’s curtain to a close as Emily settles on top of the mattress.

Christen sets the paper down on the nearby table stand and pushes both the sleeves of her white coat up, before asking Emily to roll up her shirt.

She works quietly, humming in approval as she inspects the wound that’s healing properly. She tells Emily this as she picks the paper up again, and takes out the trusty pen hooked in her coat’s pocket.

Emily hears the scratch of pen against paper first, followed by a few questions that Christen’s probably reading off of the checklist.

Then, Christen says, “Is uhm—does Captain Heath need to be cleared too?”

Emily’s a hundred percent sure that _that_ isn’t anywhere in the list at all, but she answers anyway, because Christen looks like she’s about to gnaw her bottom lip off in curiosity.

“She didn’t need to. Minor injuries normally don’t need clearance.”

“Oh.” Christen darts a tongue out, wetting her lips. “I guess I won’t see her around?”

Emily hops off the bed, eyes never leaving Christen’s form even as she tucks her shirt back in. She doesn’t miss the way the other woman avoids her gaze, nor the way her face just sort of... _falls_ when she said the words out loud.

“Well not right now,” Emily says, shrugging. “She’s been deployed. I’m supposed to meet her on site tomorrow. That’s why I need to be cleared.”

“Is it overseas?”

“No. Just somewhere in the country.”

Christen smiles and nods, though it’s stiff; because it still doesn’t really explain why it’s been a week and she has not heard from Captain Tobin Heath at all.

…

 

Tobin stares at the lone boat anchored at the nearest dock, the huge green trawler swaying above the rippling waves. It’s old and rusty, with the inside smelling like a mixture of the metallic tang of iron and the strong scent of fish.

 _The Brotherhood_ is a fishing boat, according to its papers at least. 

Except, it _isn’t_.

Two of her men emerge from the cabin, each one supporting an end of the long wooden crate they are carrying with them back to land.

Tobin meets the two by the edge of the harbor, instructing them to follow her as she leads the way to where the four other crates they’ve retrieved in this location are being kept.

They’ve been running from state to state and city to city, spread thin over military checkpoints and harbors, despite having the other special forces teams aiding them.

It’s Phoenix this time, the third in Tobin’s very, very long week.

Her service weapon hangs loosely across her torso, though, her hands fly to grip it as she catches sight of Alex and Megan pushing a man, whose hands are cuffed behind his back, to walk. Trailing them are two police officers; backup, she supposes, just in case he tries to pull anything (not that Alex and Megan even need it).

The man tries to shake off the hand Megan has clasped on his elbow, but she’s firm on her grip and his effort falls to nothing.

“Captain,” Alex greets as she frees a hand to salute at her superior.

Megan does the same, and they both stay in that position until Tobin returns the gesture—which she does, quickly.

“Who’s this?” The captain inquires, lifting her chin to point at the unknown man.

It’s Megan who reports, “Frank White, age thirty two.”

“Ah,” Tobin drawls—though it’s more for effect than anything else—then,“the suspected terrorist accomplice.”

“I’m not a terrorist!” Frank exclaims in protest. “And why even is the army getting all up in _my_ business?”

Tobin’s almost growling when she answers, “Because _your_ business involves high assault rifles that have ties to a terrorist group. And that’s a threat to national security.”

“I’m telling you,” he bristles in surprise. “I am _not_ a terrorist! You have the wrong guy!”

But Tobin’s already too tired to be having this conversation, so she instructs Megan and Alex to bring in White for questioning, despite his very, very vocal protests.

Alex drags Frank by the elbow again, while Megan grasps the other. Together, they haul a still struggling five foot ten man towards the squad jeep.

Tobin, for her part, returns her attention to the crates they’ve retrieved. She bends on one knee as she studies the newest addition to the growing number, and just like the ones they’ve seized in Missouri and Sheridan, it doesn’t have any indication of where it has come from.

But Tobin already knows; _knows_ that inside it are guns of high caliber that poses a real threat to the people she’s trying to protect. 

 _Knows_ that these weapons are unique, and can only come from one faction alone. 

 _Knows_ that despite the absence of the hammer and sickle insignia, Bratva has its prints written all over it.

“Captain Heath.”

An even tone breaks her reverie. When she looks up, General Sauerbrunn is standing beside her with a stern expression on her face.

Tobin jumps to her feet, right hand flying to her right eyebrow as she greets her superior. “Ma’am!”

General Sauerbrunn salutes back, her jaw clenching and unclenching. And she’s sure that _that_ doesn’t mean good news either.

“I’m flying to Gilead in an hour. Vasiliev is still insisting he has nothing to do with this. I need to see to that personally.”

“Yes Ma’am,” the captain acknowledges.

“I’ve already talked to the police chief,” she continues. “And I’ve instructed them to route all their reports to you and you alone.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Make sure that no one sees the reports, Captain,” General Sauerbrunn says, lowering her voice so that only she can hear. “Be on alert. We don’t know yet what exactly we’re dealing with.”

Tobin nods, swallowing thickly; can’t help but wish she’s back on that high hill at Haywood Garden instead as she jogs towards the vehicle that would take her to the nearest barracks in town.

…

 

Back in Providence Pres, Kelley watches with amusement from the other side of the glass as Christen continues to babble while keeping a hand pressed on the red button of the MRI machine.

“I just don’t understand how someone can disappear for more than a week and not leave any form of message.”

The MRI bed moves to take the patient in, though the sound only muffles Christen’s voice but doesn’t stop her from talking. 

“I mean, not even a _hi_ , _bye_.”

“Chris _—_ ” Kelley tries to say, but Christen cuts her off with a hissed _that Tobin_. _Asked me to dinner and took me stargazing, and then she disappears?!_

The MRI bed _clicks_ as it reaches its innermost position. Christen drops the hand propped against the button, and then pats the patient’s leg. “We’ll just take a quick scan, okay?” She says, in a gentle tone of voice that Kelley has no idea where she has dug from when she’s just short of hurling curses at Tobin not even two seconds ago.

It finally, _finally_ gets her a word in edgewise though, and this might be Kelley’s only chance so she decides to just go directly to the point. “Chris, do you like Tobin?”

“What?” Christen asks back as she emerges from the machine room. She pulls the unoccupied chair by its tall rest, and lets herself settle in front of the wooden desk that accommodates the MRI screens. “What was that?”

“Do you like Tobin?” Kelley repeats. There’s a light squeak that bounces around the small room as she rolls her own chair beside the other woman.

Christen doesn’t give any form of response, doesn’t look up from the rows of screens and keys she’s tapping away at, as if she hasn’t heard Kelley at all.

“I mean, you’ve been a little prickly lately,” Kelley continues, waggling the churro stick pinched in between her thumb and index finger at the back of Christen’s head, as if to make a point.

Christen hits one last key and the machine hums to life. For a moment, it’s the only sound inside the room; but Kelley’s always the impatient one when it comes to _these_ things—especially if it’s about Christen—so she tears her eyes away from the glass window and grunts. “Hey, you didn’t answer me.”

Christen, in turn, holds a finger up to silence Kelley. She presses a blue button, and then dips her head closer to the small microphone at the edge of the desk. “Please stay still Mrs Lee. This will be over in a minute.”

“Chris...”

She turns after hitting the same button again, wheeling the chair away from Kelley a little. “Yes?” 

“I’m asking if you like Tobin,” Kelley says. And maybe she’s turning out to be a little too pressing about _this_ , but it’s somewhat driving her insane, why Christen’s acting like Tobin left her and dumped her on purpose or _something_.

“Of course! We’re friends! Don’t you?” Christen answers, but there’s a tinge in her cheeks that’s starting to give _more_ away.

A beeping sound comes from the scanning machine just as Kelley’s about to speak, so she waits for the red light to switch on first and for the second beep before proceeding. “Tobin and I _are_ friends, but you don’t really hear me complaining about her suddenly disappearing.”

Christen turns to look the other way, hiding the growing redness that quickly heats up her face. “I don’t know what you mean, O’Hara.”

Kelley’s brow shoots up at that, her head slightly tilting down to peek _curiously_ at Christen. But before she can open her mouth to speak, she’s cut off quickly by Christen’s abrupt voice.

“Look!” 

An image pops out of the screen, and Kelley momentarily forgets about what she’s halfway on doing. She leans closer as she studies the digital grayscale picture for a few beats; points at a particular part the same time Christen does.

They’ve spotted the problem as it seems, a slight swelling on the left side of Mrs. Lee’s brain, which is probably causing all the headaches she’s suffering from practically every day.

When Christen turns to face Kelley again, she’s got this wide smile she always wears every time something like this happens, like it’s the first time she ever got to treat somebody.

She draws a circle around the swollen part with her finger then taps it once. 

It’s a little bit hard to catch, being that it’s really small, and Christen can’t help but feel a little elated that she’s managed to find the cause this fast. “We got it!”

“We did!” Kelley echoes, laughing; knows that she’s _extra_ happy because two of her best friends may or may not (yes, _may_ , _definitely do_ ) like each other. But Christen doesn’t have to know that.

...

 

It’s another week after when Tobin shows up, with an apology that she doesn’t really know how to start.

She’s just scratching the back of her head as Christen stares at her, clearly stunned. At first, like she’s seen a ghost, but Christen’s brain catches up five seconds later, and Christen’s eyebrow arches really, _really_ high, it makes Tobin gulp.

“Hi,” Tobin says, and then winces, because more than a week of not talking to Christen and not showing up—no matter if it wasn’t really her fault—and all that she can muster is _hi_.

It genuinely feels like an eternity passes, but she visibly exhales relief when she hears Christen’s faint _hi_ back.

She takes a deliberate step forward, and another when Christen stays rooted on her spot. A third, when she’s sure that Christen isn’t going to run away.

“Hey,” Tobin greets again, and then grimaces when she realizes what she just might have started. An endless loop of _Heys_ and _His_ , and this really isn’t what she planned on saying.

“You look nice.”

(That really isn’t it either.)

Christen’s eyes grow impossibly wider, which, in turn makes Tobin panic that she feels obliged to follow it with, “N-not that you don’t ever look nice.”

The way Tobin fumbles almost makes Christen smile— _almost_ , because it’s still two weeks of _nothing_ , two weeks of leaving Christen wondering if maybe the way she ended _that_ night was too forward and too bold, enough to drive Tobin off.

So Christen composes herself, looking at Tobin with an inscrutable expression instead. “Hello, Captain Heath.”

The other woman rocks on the balls of her feet, swallowing visibly. “I can explain,” she starts to say, and then holds both her hands out in gesture, palms wide open. “Just—minus the classified.”

Christen wordlessly folds her arms over her chest. Then, “You don’t have to.”

“Really?” Tobin asks, and the other woman can see the relief washing all over her, like a huge weight has just been lifted off of her shoulders.

Christen bristles at that sight. “No, not really!”

“But you said—”

She darts a hand out, hitting the closest limb she can reach. “Not even one message?! _Really_ , Tobin?!”

The captain flinches as Christen’s fist lands on her shoulder—because contrary to what most may think, Christen does pack a mean punch (and she’s only finding out about it _now_ )—and rubs a soothing hand on the spot.

“I’m sorry,” Tobin says. “We were ordered to keep our phones off when we got to the base.”

She fishes the phone tucked in the back pocket of her jeans and holds it up for Christen to see. “I haven’t even turned it back on.”

Christen, in turn, takes a curious peek. Though, it’s fleeting, and her face is schooled into a displeased expression before Tobin can even see. “Why not?”

Tobin drops her chin, fixing her gaze at the toe of her shoes that scuffs against the tiled white floor. “I drove here as soon as I got back.”

The other woman presses her lips in a thin line as she tries to still look annoyed by _everything_ , as if she hasn’t been just _ultimately_ charmed.

But Captain Heath is making it incredibly hard for her, especially when she gazes at her from under her lids, and her eyes form the laugh lines that never fails to disarm Christen completely.

Christen expels a sigh, resigning to the fact that Tobin has a certain hold on her that she just can’t quite explain.

She rolls her eyes, though the corner of her lips curve into a smile. “Okay,” she concedes, but holds an index finger up and says, “But you’re still in trouble.”

Yet, it doesn’t stop the grin that tugs on Tobin’s lips. “Does that mean we can go to the movies so that I can make it up to you?”

Christen blinks once, twice, thrice, then, “What?”

“I’ll wait for you there,” Tobin continues, despite the bewilderment dawning on the other woman’s face. She points at the long couch set right across the Nurses Station’s counter.

Christen’s voice lifts at the end as she says, “But I don’t get out till seven?”

“Ah,” answers Tobin. She takes a few steps back to glance at the clock hanging by the wall, noting that it’s still a little more than two hours till Christen’s shift ends.

Tobin shrugs her jacket off, leaving her on her dark gray henley (that Christen really, _really_ appreciates). 

She chucks the jacket at the couch’s arm before plopping down the plump seat, and makes a show of sighing comfortably when her back hits the soft rest. 

“I better get comfy then.”

The doctor can only shake her head, though, she’s laughing when she does.

…

 

Tobin finally turns her phone back on as soon as Christen gets called by Doctor Pugh inside one of the bays.

She reads through her messages thoroughly and fires off replies.

Her mom’s message from about eight days ago goes:

_Always take care of yourself, sweetie! And trust Him._

Kelley’s follows it, _I think Chris is mad at you. What did you do?!?_ And the angry cat sticker Kelley has tacked at the end makes Tobin chuckle.

There’s an _I heard you were in Boise last week. Why didn’t you drop by the airbase? We could’ve gotten lunch or something ;)_ sandwiched in between her Mom’s and Kelley’s. It registered as an unknown number, so Tobin ignores it entirely.

But it’s the last one that puts a smile on her face, pinning it there for the rest of the night.

**_Christen [06:15 AM]_ **

_Good morning_ , _thank you for the pizza last night. I’ll see you later!_

…

 

Christen’s phone buzzes just as she’s about to head inside another patient’s bay. 

When she looks, she sees _Captain Heath_ on the notification, and for a moment, Christen’s almost afraid to tap it open; scared that the captain’s gonna disappear on her again, and she won’t be there sitting by the couch when she steps out.

Her phone continues to buzz, making Christen’s curiosity win out. She swipes on her phone, and then pulls up the conversation thread she has for Tobin.

It’s a slew of various animated emojis: a cat saying sorry, a dog giving flowers, a string of hearts that Christen isn’t sure what _it_ really means.

(Still, it makes her heart skip a beat.)

Christen’s nose crinkles into a smile. Then, she types _Dork_ before pressing send _._

(She gets another sticker from Tobin, a girl wearing glasses, which only proves her right.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took a while! i got swamped with work (among other things) so only got around to posting now. (and there may, or may not be other things in the works too :p)
> 
> let me know if you guys liked it! @ geekmythologys.tumblr.com


	7. vii.

The cinema house is a little crowded, as if it’s not well into a school night and is a weekend night instead, on a busy street in the middle of the city.

Christen leads the way towards the schedule screens, squeezing through the small throng of people gathered around. Tobin slips between the gaps Christen makes, following the doctor on her heels until they’re in front of the entire crowd.

Christen looks up as she reads the cinema schedule with muted excitement. Tobin stands beside her, and watches with a half-smile as Christen’s eager breaths turn into sighs, staring hesitantly at the list being flashed on the screen by the ticket booth.

And then she pouts some more, which compels Tobin to ask, “Christen, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” the doctor replies, shaking her head. “I uhm… I see _Crawl_ on the list. We can watch that?”

Tobin curbs the urge to laugh at the horrified look fighting its way onto Christen’s face, and instead turns to her side just so she can hide the quiver of her lips. She swallows down the chuckle bubbling up in her throat before speaking. “We can watch something else?”

Christen takes a second look at _Now Showing_ and then shakes her head. She’s quiet for a few beats; Tobin’s sure she’s thinking, though, of _what_ , Tobin isn’t sure exactly.

She finds out when Christen turns to her, eyes sparkling. “Let’s go roller skating instead!”

Tobin barely has the chance to answer before Christen is grabbing her by the wrist and tugging her back onto the street.

...

 

 

They pay for two pairs of skating shoes at the rink a few blocks away from the cinema house, and a wheeled skating guide that comes up to Christen’s hip. Tobin says she could just teach her, but Christen says she’s never tried skating before and would feel much more comfortable toting the trainer around, and so Tobin agrees.

(Though, _really_ , she would agree on _anything_ if it meant spending more time with Christen.)

It’s a wide rink, with short white walls topped with round, pole-thick, metal railings. There are long benches surrounding the rink, with a few people or so that somehow makes Christen nervous as she and Tobin step inside.

It’s Tobin who moves to reach for the guide, wheeling it in front of Christen who’s gripping the closest railing real tight. 

She accepts it with a shy _thanks_ ; and a grin she tries so hard not to show but she fails anyway.

But Christen doesn’t hold on to it at once. Instead, she rolls it a little to her side, prompting Tobin to throw her a quizzical look.

“You said you know how to skate,” Christen starts to explain. Slowly, she lets go of the railing, but remains standing firm on her feet. “Show me the basics?”

Tobin pulls back, a little surprised. But she flashes her a grin before holding both her hands out for Christen to take. “We’ll make a champion out of you.”

...

 

 

The next minutes of their skating time is spent dissolving into giggles and chuckles as they roll against the wooden floorboards and alternated between slipping and falling on their behinds—Christen more than Tobin, because the only time Tobin ever falls is when Christen drags her down with her. 

(And it should be pretty telling, isn’t it, Christen thinks, that she doesn’t mind the falls at all.)

...

 

 

They have just finished their umpteenth round on the rink when she decides to finally make use of the wheeled guide they have rented for the first time.

Tobin begrudgingly lets her hand go, though, she tries not to let it show on her face. But it must have because Christen rolls a little closer— _closer_ , where their knees bump against each other and Tobin has to pretend that it doesn’t make the blood rush into her ears _every time_ —and sends a smile her way that’s full of genuine gratitude.

Tobin drops her head, her nostrils flaring in sheepishness as she licks her lips. She feels more than sees the palm Christen lays on her arm, the warmth Christen’s touch radiates only serving as fuel that fans the heat already coloring her face.

“I think I can manage now, Tobin,” Christen says. “You’re a very good teacher, after all.”

...

 

 

Now that Tobin has, _essentially_ , been granted freedom to freely roam around the rink, Christen finds out that Captain Tobin Heath _knows_ how to skate. 

 _Of course_ she does.

(A good one at that; Christen admires her and hates her a little at the same time.)

Though, she handles the shock surprisingly better than most times, managing to compose herself right after Tobin does a maneuver that bowls her over.

(And if she feels warmth on her face when Tobin sends a wink her way, it’s totally because she just became a fan.

 And so _not_ because Tobin looked ridiculously adorable when she did.

So not that at all.)

...

 

 

It’s almost midnight by the time they leave, after Christen yawns for what feels like the hundredth time, unknowingly burrowing closer to Tobin’s side as she starts to really feel the toll of standing around—and skating much much later—for practically the whole day.

Tobin drives her back to her apartment just like before, walks Christen to the short cemented path that leads to the complex.

She mumbles a soft good night, pocketing both her hands inside her jacket just so she won’t do anything stupid, like tuck the lock of Christen’s hair ruffled by the passing wind behind her ear; because the lamp post light is hitting Christen oh so perfectly, and Tobin is just a mere human with a resolve she can barely uphold.

Christen whispers a _good night_ back, and slowly walks backwards to the front door. Though her eyes are darting everywhere except at Tobin’s. She blindly reaches for the door handle behind her, and lets her hand rest loosely over it. 

“You should really tell me if you’re going to disappear on me again,” she quips. “There’s a line waiting to be my two pm, you know?”

“I’m sorry,” Tobin says, her eyes full of remorse despite Christen’s light hearted tone. 

“I was kidding, Tobin.”

“I know,” she admits. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not true. I did disappear on you. But I didn’t mean to.”

Christen tightens her grip on the door handle, and uses the force to push herself forward. She clasps both her hands behind her back as she walks leisurely towards the other woman, her shoulders swaying with each step.

“You’ll just have to make it up to me then,” she says, punctuating it with a playful tug on the bill of Tobin’s maroon snapback.

The captain responds with a soft laugh, shaking her head as she fixes the cap back in place. “I have a lot of minutes saved up for _comms_.”

Christen’s eyebrows draw closer, frowns in confusion. “I have no idea what that means.”

“It means,” Tobin begins to say, then, pauses as she plucks her phone out from the pocket of her jeans. She swipes at the screen before pulling up her phone’s Skype. “I can call you once I’m connected to the camp’s wi-fi. Every one of us has minutes we can spend when we’re away.”

“Hmm,” Christen hums. “Can I think about it?”

“Of course.” Tobin nods, serious and meaning it. “Of course you can. And you don’t have to, if you don’t feel comfortable about it.” 

Christen just wordlessly extends a hand out, fingers adjusting the collar of Tobin’s jacket and straightening it. 

The other woman takes it as a _no—_ and Christen’s silence as a lack of anything to say; even though she doesn’t have to explain anything because Tobin completely understands—and so she flips her phone onto its back, moving her hand to put it inside her back pocket.

“Wait!” Christen says. She snags the device from Tobin’s hand, and then holds the screen in front of the other woman so she can punch the passcode in.

“I thought you were going to think about it? Really, it’s okay, Christen.”

She smiles like she _likes_ what she’s heard; as if it’s some sort of test that Tobin has unknowingly just breezed through.

“I already have.”

...

 

 

**_imthatwizardharry [1:14 AM]_ **

_Please tell me that’s you in the picture wearing a Harry Potter costume_

_And ah, Gryffindor. My house colors_

**_Dr. Christen Press [1:14 AM]_ **

_I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you_

_And please, you’re a Hufflepuff, you dork._

_Case in point, that username._

**_imthatwizardharry [1:16 AM]_ **

_No need I can spot those eyes from anywhere_

_Hey, Hufflepuffs are cool. I’m not going to complain._

_Also, dorks are hot. I’m a dork. Do the math ;)_

**_Dr. Christen Press [1:17 AM]_ **

_Oh my goodness_

...

 

 

Christen is startled a little when her phone blares loud rings, feeling it vibrate in between her hands.

She’s in the middle of typing _I don’t like Math_ when _imthatwizardharry_ flashes on her screen, so she just taps the green button instead to accept the video call.

The screen goes dark for a second as the call connects, and then she’s greeted by Tobin’s smiling face when it does.

“Did you do the math?”

Tobin’s lying on her stomach, with a stack of gray and blue patterned throw pillows underneath her to support her chin and her arms.

Her hair is tied loosely up on her head, her face completely bare and free of any makeup (though, it’s not like the captain wears a lot in the first place).

It’s right when Christen notices that she remembers that she’s already washed off her makeup too. She sinks lower in her bed, tugging the fluffy comforter up to her nose so that only her eyes are visible.

“Hey, why are you hiding?” Tobin asks, though not unkind. She actually looks a little sad more than anything, and close to pouting.

“My face is completely bare,” Christen replies. Her voice is muffled by the blanket covering her mouth.

“But I see no difference? You still look beautiful.”

Christen _tsks_ in good nature, and rolls her eyes. (But she’s glad that she hasn’t pushed the blanket away yet because it hides the charmed grin that Tobin just pulled from her lips.) “Are you always this cheesy?”

The call shakes a little as Tobin folds an arm, propping it on top of the pillows. She lets her chin rest on the limb as she looks at Christen with nothing but earnest hope. “Why don’t you stick around and find out?”

Slowly, Christen pushes the blanket down, revealing the bottom lip that’s caught in between her teeth that gives her bashfulness away.

Though, her voice is firm and unwavering when she says, “Maybe I will.”

Like she _means_ it.

(She does.)

...

 

**_imthatwizardharry [2:30 AM]_ **

_I think you just fell asleep_

_Coz I heard you snore_

_Btw it was really cute_

_Goodnight, Christen_

**_Dr. Christen Press [6:19 AM]_ **

_I don’t do that!_

_Don’t you know, you must not  tell lies?_

_ >:( _

 

**_Dr. Christen Press [7:24 AM]_ **

_Good morning, Tobin_

...

 

 

Christen beats Kelley by eight minutes for the first time in months, getting to their usual cafeteria spot for breakfast first.

She’s fully prepared to rub it in on Kelley’s face, except Kelley doesn’t really seem like herself when she gets there. The other doctor looks on edge, her face pale and restless.

Christen frowns at that, eyeing Kelley’s slightly trembling hands. “Kell, are you okay? Your hands are shaking a little.”

Kelley rubs her palms against each other first before lacing her fingers together. She untangles them a second after, and then shakes both her hands in the air. “It’s d-day,” she tells Christen.

Christen quirks a brow. “D-day?”

“Yeah,” Kelley replies with a swallow. “I’m about to go up and meet up with Noah before I take him to the OR.”

“Oh!” The other doctor’s face lights up upon hearing the name. “You’re finally going to fix his heart!”

Kelley nods, vigorous in a way that can only be brought by nervousness. But Christen doesn’t miss it, doesn’t miss the spark of doubt that’s about to fester inside Kelley’s head. 

So she takes Kelley by her shoulders and looks her straight in the eyes. “Listen. You’ve been preparing for this surgery since the day you got his case,” she reassures. “You got this, _Doctor O’Hara_.”

“But what if I got it wrong?”

“You _didn’t_ ,” Christen firmly refutes, trying to squash the jolt of fear that flashes in Kelley’s eyes. “You’re right about this. You’ve got literal piles of research and Doctor Krieger’s recommendations. You’re _right_ about this, okay?”

“I’m right about this,” Kelley repeats. She fixes her gaze at Christen’s smile, feeling the trepidation slowly dissipate, until she’s able to return it in kind and completely enheartened.

...

 

 

Noah Sharpe is a shy seven year-old boy who dreams of being a soldier when he grows up. He’s told Kelley this each time they meet, and Kelley, in turn, has told him that she can’t wait for him to grow older and be the strong soldier she knows he would be.

She tells him the same thing when she goes up to his room, tells him a second time when she wheels him inside OR four; that she thinks he’s going to be the best soldier of his time, because she knows someone just as spirited as him, and _she’s_ already one of the best soldiers there is.

“Whoa,” Noah marvels as Kelley helps him settle on the operating table. “A woman soldier!”

The doctor can’t help but giggle at his excitement. “Yes, a woman soldier.”

“Do you know her? What is she like?”

“I do,” Kelley confirms, with a fondness that only comes out whenever she’s thinking of Emily. Though, her tone turns wistful as she continues (and thankfully, Noah is too young to notice). “She’s brave, just like you. Tenacious. Beautiful.”

Noah tilts his head up, frowning at the doctor. “What’s _tenissues_?”

“It means persistent,” answers Kelley. She takes his left hand and the needle for the IV with the other. “I’m going to stick this in your hand now, okay?” She states, holding the blunt end of the needle up so that Noah can only see the transparent tube. “You think you’re brave enough to handle it?”

“Is it gonna hurt?”

“It might. But only like an ant bite.”

“Yeah?” Noah hesitates.

“You can close your eyes if you want,” Kelley offers.

A long second passes before Noah shakes his head firmly, as if making his mind. The action makes Kelley cluck her tongue on the roof of her mouth, and then say, winking, “Future general right there.”

...

 

 

His eyes close at five from the backwards ten count they started as soon as the anesthesia is pushed inside his veins. Though, Kelley can tell that he’s trying to fight it.

So she runs a hand on the top of his head, tapping gently until he falls asleep completely.

She only pulls her hand back when she hears the anesthesiologist, Doctor Dunn, say, “We’re good to go.”

Kelley nods, takes a deep, calming breath to anchor herself down right in this moment, and then holds a palm out to her favorite nurse, Allie. 

“Ten blade, please.”

...

 

 

The surgery goes swimmingly; there never really was any doubt it wouldn’t.

Noah wakes up an hour and a half after he’s wheeled into the Recovery Room. A little dazed from the medicine, but, he cracks a small smile when Kelley tells him that he can go back to playing soccer again once he heals completely.

“Thank you, Doctor O’Hara,” Noah says despite the hazy feeling. “You’re the bestest, prettiest doctor ever.”

Kelley lets out a laugh as she shakes her head. “Go get some more rest.”

(Though, she’d be lying if she says that _that_ and the blush on his face didn’t make her day.)

...

 

 

Back at the military base, Tobin sighs as she reads the official report for the umpteenth time. None of the prisoners they’ve taken in from Old Corral have given up any useful information; and while Frank White has spewed out a name, it leads to a ghost—Viktor Giles has been dead for fifteen years.

She throws the folder back on the table and runs a weary hand, scrunching her face.

Nothing really connects the bombs and the smuggled guns save for the hammer and sickle insignia, and the fact that only Bratva has access to weapons of that specific kind.

General Sauerbrunn’s latest update doesn’t help either, since it only consisted of Alexei Vasiliev assuring her that Bratva did not send out any of their factions because they’re taking the ceasefire and peace talks seriously.

Tobin is, once again, out of leads.

She’s been poring over numerous intelligence reports for the last four hours—her nose now buried in on one from last week—that she falls into a routine of running a hand through her pristinely-tied hair, and then leaning back for a stretch; fingers massaging the sore spot on her knife wound that’s starting to hurt because she’s been sitting too long.

The monotony only breaks when there’s a knock on her door, followed by Emily bursting in with Ashlyn on her heels.

Emily pushes the door closed, and then stomps once, giving Tobin a salute as she announces her and Ashlyn’s ranks and their names.

Tobin takes it as a chance to get up from her seat, and then perches herself at the front rightmost corner of her desk. She lifts a hand, fingers waving Emily and Ashlyn to go ahead.

“Megan and Alex have finished their patrol, Cap,” Ashlyn reports as Emily takes one of the chairs on Tobin’s left. “Little T’s already on her rounds with Private Klingenberg.”

“Thank you, Sarge.”

“You’ve been holed up in here for far too long,” Emily says, noting the stacks of papers and folders sprawled all over the desk. “Need some help?”

Tobin doesn’t shy away from admitting that she does. “I do,” she says as she presses two fingers against her temple. “But I can’t. I have to wait for General _Broon_ to get back before disclosing anything.”

Ashlyn slides both her hands inside the pockets of her uniform pants, then, shrugs. “How about the abridged, off the record version?”

That earns her a high five from Emily, who seconds it with a very enthused _yes_.

Tobin is quiet for a second, mulling the thought over. There’s a _click_ that comes from the corner of her mouth, followed by the sound of sucking teeth, then, “Let’s get dinner. Outside.”

 _Outside_ , where they’d be out of ranks and out of their uniforms; simply be friends talking about _hypothetical_ situations.

Both Emily and Ashlyn nod. They know that this is their captain’s way of telling them without really _telling_ them, skirting around the rules of insubordination as carefully as she can.

Emily then asks. “Pi’s in fifteen?”

“Awesome,” Tobin agrees, while Ashlyn simply nods and moves her feet towards the door.

“Wait.” Emily twists her neck, turning to look at their sergeant. “Don’t you have that anniversary dinner thing with Ali? Megan has been teasing you about it since God knows when.”

“That’s in two days,” Ashlyn replies at the same time Tobin blurts out, _she doesn’t_.

The two soldiers snap their attention towards their captain, who’s now realizing what just came out of her mouth, and is looking like a deer caught in headlights.

Ashlyn tilts her head, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “How do you know we don’t?”

Tobin squints an eye shut and heaves a deep breath of resignation. She briefly considers lying—because there are things she’d like to keep to herself _for now_ —and telling Emily and Ashlyn that it’s because it’s all Megan can blabber about (which is partly true, anyway); but she has never lied to her best friend’s face. And she certainly won’t start now. 

Not about Christen. _Never_ about Christen.

So she turns to grab her phone that’s resting somewhere on the desk, thumbs in her code and taps three times before turning the device to show its screen. “Christen sent me this.”

It’s a picture of Christen, Kelley and Ali, out of their white coats and scrub suits, and in the middle of their celebratory dinner. There’s an obvious flush on their cheeks matched with tipsy smiles that Tobin’s sure are brought by the glasses of margarita they’ve each yet to finish.

Ashlyn beams upon seeing the picture. “Al sent me one too! Look.” 

She fumbles through her pockets to find her phone; Emily takes that moment to say, “You’ve been getting _chummy_ with my doctor, Captain.”

She lets out a series of _tsks_ , and then gives Tobin a grin, the kind that she knows grates on Tobin’s nerves. 

Tobin stares at her, unamused (and maybe somewhat contemplating if she can push her best friend the next time they jump off a C31 to get back at her.)

Ashlyn finally locates her phone, fishing it out from the lower left pocket of her uniform pants, and pulls up the one her wife has sent her.

It’s still the three of them, though, they’re all making kissy faces at the camera this time.

Emily snorts, and quickly averts her gaze to keep her eyes from staring at Kelley’s even redder face longer than she already has. “Are they drunk already?”

“Nah.” Ashlyn shakes her head. “Ali hasn’t blown up my phone with _love yous_ yet so, nope.”

Tobin cracks a sly grin, like she just managed to unearth some precious hidden treasure. “Ali does that when she’s drunk?”

Ashlyn’s eyes widen comically when she realizes what she just revealed. “If you don’t want to be Sergeant-less, Captain Heath, I suggest you’d pretend you didn’t hear a thing.”

“At least she doesn’t like, drunkenly sexts you or _something_ ,” Emily muses.

The red flush spreads from Ashlyn’s face down to her neck so quickly that she doesn’t get the chance to hide it.

“Oh my God,” Emily groans, her face pulling into a grimace. “You could’ve spared me that!”

“I didn’t say anything!” Ashlyn yells back despite the heat that’s burning her cheeks.

“ _Oh my fucking God_! Someone get me brain bleach!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmk what you guys think! :)


	8. viii.

“How’s the future General Sharpe?” Kelley greets the next day, beaming at a sleepy Noah from the doorway.

He’s still a little groggy from the surgery even after a whole twenty-four hours, and he doesn’t smile at Kelley like he usually does. But that doesn’t stop the blush from coloring his pale cheeks. “Hi, Doctor O’Hara.”

Mrs. and Mrs. Sharpe smile at her in greeting, which she returns graciously. Then, she shuffles towards the side of Noah’s bed, and starts fiddling with the various fluids and tubes hooked on the IV pole.

Kelley turns to Noah afterwards, wrapping a comforting hand around Noah’s arm. “Do you feel any pain right now?”

The kid silently shakes his head.

“That’s good to know.” Kelley nods and smiles kindly at Noah. “Is it okay if I check your stitches? I just need to make sure they’re clean.”

“Okay,” Noah rasps, almost inaudibly.

Kelley whispers a soft _thank you General Sharpe_ in answer. They’re quiet for a minute, with Kelley slowly and carefully pushing at the hems of Noah’s hospital gown, until she can see the entire dressing.

She’s about to work on taking the bandage off when she hears Noah speak. “Doctor O’Hara?”

The doctor lifts her head up, looking at the little boy expectantly. “Hmmm?” 

“Will I still get to be a general?”

“Of course. I don’t see why you won’t be.”

“But, what if I never get better?”

“You will,” Kelley assures him. “You’ll get better, and you’ll feel better.”

(Though, she can tell by the downcast look on his face that he doesn’t believe her at all.)

“When?”

“Well, there’s no exact time.”

“Why?”

“It’s different for everybody,” she patiently explains. “But you’re strong, and you’ve been really brave. So you might get better in just a few weeks.”

His eyes start to flutter. Kelley suspects it’s the new drops of medicine kicking in, so she kind of wants to speed up cleaning his wound so he can rest fully.

“But what if it takes longer than that?” Noah asks. “Then I’ll never be a general.”

“You’ll just have to take a lot of rest, buddy,” Kelley says, her tone the perfect mix of tender and encouraging. “And always take your medicine. And eat your veggies. Okay?”

He’s quiet for a while, and Kelley is admittedly running out of ideas on how to tell him that everything is going to be fine.

When Noah does finally say something, it’s just a mumbled _okay_ that doesn’t sound entirely convinced in Kelley’s ears.

She proceeds to unclothe the bandaged wound, painstakingly peeling off the medical tape with the softest touch. Her smile never drops to keep Noah at ease, even though she sees the angry red swell around the stitches—that she knows will be painful for him once his medication is lowered—and it hurts her too, just thinking about it.

“There we go,” Kelley says as she finishes putting a new bandage on. Then, she taps Noah at the tip of his nose. “You call me if anything hurts, okay? Anything at all.”

Noah nods obediently.

“I’ll see you again in an hour.”

She sends him one last smile, gentle and kind, before exiting the room.

…

  


An hour after, he looks more awake. But he greets Kelley with the same bleak expression he has since she first dropped by his room.

Kelley asks again if something hurts, but he only shakes his head _again_ , and Kelley’s honestly feeling a little out of her depth here, especially when Noah’s Momma puts on his favorite cartoons on his laptop, and yet Noah just stares at the screen absentmindedly.

Kids are resilient, she _knows_ , and that each child has their own way of coping up. But Kelley has been with him since day one, so she just can’t help but be worried.

…

  


Her feet grow a mind of their own as she hops off the elevator three floors down from Noah’s room, taking her to the only person she knows she can turn to.

“Christen! Hey, Chris!”

Christen wheels around at the sound of her name, immediately spotting Kelley who’s trotting towards her. “Hey! Do you need something?”

“Can I talk to you?”

A frown etches on Christen’s forehead. “Is it for a consult?”

Kelley shakes her head _no_ , then, “It’s about Noah.”

“Okay,” Christen acquiesces. She calls for Doctor Pugh and tells her to take her next patients, just until she comes back.

Then, Christen takes Kelley by the shoulders and turns her around, guiding her out of the ER department and straight to the cafeteria. 

They opt for it over an empty room, because Kelley is tired; and when she’s tired, she’s hungry. Besides, the lack of smile on Noah’s face is bothering her more than it probably should, and she needs an array of pastries to distract her.

Christen pushes Kelley down to a chair, telling her to stay put, then, “I’ll be back.”

She returns to the table after a minute or two, with an armful of assorted sets of cupcakes and pudding because she knows that Kelley grows a sweet tooth during the most stressful moments. 

Christen lines them all up in front of the other doctor, and as she watches Kelley’s face slowly light up, she knows she got it right.

...

  


“You think Noah’s sad that you fixed his heart?”

Since a spoonful of banana pudding is still stuck in her mouth, Kelley answers with a shake of her head.

“What then?”

She pulls the spoon out, licking all the sweet remnants away before speaking. “No. I think he’s sad because he probably feels worse now than before.”

Christen lets her back drop against the seat rest, arms folding over her stomach. “But that’s just how you’re supposed to feel after going through such a huge procedure.”

“Yeah, but,” Kelley starts to say, then, “he doesn’t understand that. I’ve already told him he’ll get better in time, but I don’t think he believes me.”

The younger doctor purses her lips together in sympathy, pushing the fourth cup of pudding—chocolate this time—closer to Kelley.

“I think he thinks he can’t join the army anymore,” she continues, and only pauses to strip the pudding lid off of its container. “And I can’t help but feel like he blames me for that.”

“I’m sure that’s not it, Kell,” Christen answers, reaching out to rub a comforting hand up and down Kelley’s shoulder. Though, she stops as she tries to wind back Kelley’s words. “Wait, back up a bit. Did you say army?”

“Yeah,” the other doctor confirms. “He wants to be a soldier when he grows up.”

Christen’s face brightens up as she rockets out of her seat, practically vibrating with excitement. “I think I know how to cheer him up!”

…

  


The latest Alpha Team briefing is long and grueling, which ends up with Tobin pinching the bridge of her nose as she leads her squad out of the briefing room.

They have a million theories regarding Bratva’s movements, but no substantial evidence to prove that the faction is indeed contravening the peace talks and transgressing the treaty.

(Their intelligence confirms whispers of a rebellion inside Bratva’s own. Yet, _still_ , whispers will only serve as inklings without tangible proof.)

Tobin presses the heel of her palm against her temple, already feeling a headache coming from a mile away.

Their upcoming mission is an entirely different migraine altogether (because providing escort for very important people is never easy, especially not when the life of another country’s leader rests on her team’s hands).

She’s making her way back to her quarters when she remembers that her phone buzzed inside her pocket sometime during their briefing. She fishes the device out to take a quick look, a smile dawning on her face upon seeing the name that her phone’s notification is flashing on the screen.

She pulls the message thread up, and the latest one she’s received goes like this:

**_Christen [01:09 PM]_ **

_Tobin, are you busy?_

Tobin taps once to reply, but quickly decides against it. She leaves the messaging app and switches to her contacts instead, scrolling down until she finds what she’s looking for.

Christen picks up in four rings.

“Christen?” Tobin says by way of greeting. “Did you need something?”

“ _Yeah. I kind of have a favor to ask_ ,” answers the doctor. 

Tobin can hear the sheepishness in Christen’s tone, and she doesn’t have to see her to know that her eyes are darting _everywhere_ while biting at her bottom lip. 

She _just_ has to smile at the vivid imagery. “Sure, what’s up?”

“ _Do you have the time? I don’t want to take you away from protecting the country_.”

“For you, Christen? I have all the time in the world.”

“ _Oh my God, Tobin._ ”

...

  


Tobin runs into Christen just as she steps foot inside the ER department. Though, judging by the way the doctor shifts her weight from foot to foot, Tobin surmises she’s been waiting for her.

She drags a reluctant Emily with her as Christen leads them both to where Kelley is, standing by the Nurses Station and tapping furiously on her phone.

There’s obviously some tension from the get go, but thankfully, Emily doesn’t run away (though, it’s Emily, she never really runs away from _anything_ ). She even gives Kelley a stiff nod as a greeting, to which the doctor cracks a smile at, waving a surprised, shy _hi_.

They make it to Noah’s room despite the silence that becomes stifling halfway through, the air inside the elevator so thick and tense Tobin can almost taste it.

But, _at last_ , Tobin and Emily meet Noah after a couple of knocks on the room’s door. He’s a little small for his age, and has an unruly blonde hair that’s close to shrouding a pair of light blue eyes.

It’s Kelley who introduces the two women to her little patient. “Hey Noah, I have two friends who really want to meet you.”

Noah’s mouth falls open at the sight of two uniformed soldiers standing right in front of him, and he’s practically squealing when he calls at Kelley. “Doctor O’Hara!”

It’s the first time since the surgery that Kelley has seen Noah be this lively, and she can’t help but throw a grateful look at Christen, who’s hovering by the doorway and watching the scene unfold with a huge smile.

“Whoa, soldiers!” Noah says, pointing at both Tobin and Emily. Then, he turns to her doctor again. “Doctor O’Hara!”

“Yes, future General Sharpe?”

At that, Noah smiles shyly, the tips of his ears turning red. “Are they—are they the soldier you told me about? The _tenissues_?”

It’s Kelley’s turn to blush at the sudden revelation (she can’t believe Noah remembers _that_.) “Oh, uhm,” she stammers, floundering for words. She feels more than sees Emily’s curious stares that she swears are burning holes at the back of her head. “Yes—kind of.”

Thankfully, Tobin takes pity on her, catching Noah’s attention. “Hey Noah. I’m Captain Heath,” she introduces herself, and then gestures a hand out to introduce Emily. “And this is Second Lieutenant Sonnett.”

“Hi!” Noah greets back. He almost rockets out of his bed, and one of his moms has to push him back just so he won’t pull _anything_.

Emily feels Tobin’s elbow nudge her side, compelling her to speak, “We heard that you wanted to be a soldier too.”

The seven year-old nods eagerly, though his face falls not long after, when he remembers where he is and why he’s here. “But my heart is not strong.”

“Yet,” Kelley is quick to follow. “It’s not strong _yet_. But it doesn’t mean that you’ll never be strong again.”

“But what about my scar, Doctor O’Hara? What if they don’t like it?”

“Uh, well,” Tobin starts to explain, but she’s cut off by Emily who steps closer to Noah’s bed, smiling at the kid warmly, as if he doesn’t have to worry about _anything_.

(And just then, Kelley’s transported back to a year and a half ago, where the sun was high but the sky was blackened by smoke. She was surrounded by whimpering kids, terrified over the booming sound of an explosion—a landmine Tobin’s team had to detonate so that the UN relief convoy could pass and reach the outlands. 

Transported to when Emily stepped inside the room, weaponless and without her uniform jacket. She still looked like every bit of the soldier she is despite just being in her gray undershirt, but her smile screamed of safety and _everything’s okay_.)

“I have one too, you know,” Emily says, turning Noah’s attention to her.

A curious Noah’s lips form an _o_ , then, “Really?”

“I do,” she nods, and then points at Christen who’s now standing next to Tobin. “I got it when Doctor Press saved my life.”

Christen, in turn, drops her head, hiding the flush that dusts her cheeks. Tobin beams at the sight of a bashful Christen, her eyes crinkling.

Emily lifts the hem of her uniform jacket up, and then pulls at the undershirt tucked inside her pants. She rolls both the uniform and the gray undershirt by the hem, up until Noah gasps as he sees the scar.

“See?” She affirms.

“I have one too!” Tobin jumps in, already lifting her uniform and her undershirt to show Noah the one she got from their mission in Old Corral. “Doctor Press saved my life too!”

“ _Tobin_ ,” Christen whispers behind her, feeling completely bashful. 

Tobin feels the light slap of her hand against her shoulder blade. But, she just looks over her shoulder and winks at the doctor, before returning her attention to Noah. “Doctor Press helped me and Second Lieutenant Sonnett get better, like Doctor O’Hara is helping you now.”

She lets the clothes drop to cover the exposed part of her side again. “So you should listen to everything Doctor O’Hara says, okay?”

It’s only then that Noah starts to smile. “I will!”

“Do you promise?” Emily asks.

“I promise!”

Tobin makes him promise her to eat plenty of vegetables too, and to get well soon because she can’t wait for him to join the force.

“Speaking of,” Kelley steps in, practically beaming. She looks entirely radiant that Emily has to swallow and look away. “You have to take your medicine in twenty minutes, so you need to eat some of those veggies now, okay?”

Noah nods eagerly. Though, when Kelley reaches a hand out, patting his head, the round of his cheeks tinge pink.

He turns to his mom, who’s standing at the other side of his bed. “Mommy, may I please have my vegetables now?”

Tobin chuckles at the sight. “I guess that’s our cue.”

Then, she catches Emily’s eyes, mouths _salute_ , and cocks her head to point at Noah.

Emily lets out a hum of acknowledgement. She turns to the little boy, clacks the heel of her boot against the tiled floor to gain his attention, then, she states, “Second Lieutenant Emily Sonnett, sir!”

Tobin follows suit, grinning. “Captain Tobin Heath, sir!”

Noah looks positively astonished, staring at the two soldiers with wide eyes and an open mouth.

Christen giggles happily at the surprise written all over his face. Kelley makes sure to preserve this moment, snapping a series of pictures and videos.

“You have to give them a salute back,” Christen coaxes. “Remember? That’s how it goes.”

Noah lifts his free hand up and returns their gesture enthusiastically. “Ma’am!”

...

  


Mrs. and Mrs. Sharpe see Christen, Tobin and Emily out of Noah’s room, cooing endlessly in gratitude, while Kelley stays to give Noah a careful yet warm hug that sends him into another blushing fit.

The two doctors head to the Nurses Station afterwards to check on their respective rounds schedules. This leaves the two soldiers alone in the hallway, and one Tobin who simpers as she nudges Emily playfully on the shoulder. “Looks like you’ve got some serious competition.”

Emily smiles at the waggle of Tobin’s eyebrows, but it’s all teeth and fake _and_ scary. “Do I?”

In a move that the older woman doesn’t see coming, she darts a finger out, landing it right on the tender spot of the still healing wound that Tobin has been moaning about.

Tobin curls in on herself as she cups a hand over the part Emily poked, sputtering. “Fuck, Sonnett! You’re dead when I catch you!”

“That’ll teach you,” Emily snipes.

Christen, who’s just coming back from her quick visit to the Nurses Station, runs as soon as she sees the pain on Tobin’s face.

“Tobin! What’s wrong?!”

Emily groans, rolls her eyes so hard she thinks she’s going to get a headache. “I’m going.”

She lumbers out of the hallway and turns to the corner, leaving the two _hopeless idiots_ in her wake.

...

  


Only, she runs into Kelley, face to face.

Surprised, Kelley takes a step to her side. But Emily seems to be thinking the same, and so they both still end up practically on each other’s faces. 

Emily dodges to her right, yet Kelley does too.

Both her hands then shoot from her sides, letting it hover above Kelley’s shoulders. (And it’s honestly a surprise that her hands don’t tremble.) “Just—stay there. Don’t move.”

Kelley nods once, following suit. She stays still and stiff as Emily steps to her left, passing by her without another word—not even a glance. 

The fading sound of her boots spurs Kelley to twirl around, calling from behind. “Emily!” 

Emily curses internally when she turns on instinct. “Yes?”

Kelley smiles at her, the deep etches below her cheek showing. (And Emily hates, _hates_ that one night she was drunk in sleep and even drunker in Kelley’s warmth, and she told her that her smile makes her weak.)

“Do you want to have dinner?”

“With you?”

Kelley nods innocently, like she just didn’t smash through Emily’s carefully built walls.

“With Tobin and Christen too,” Kelley supplies when it dawns on her that Emily isn’t going to answer. “I just—I just want to thank you for doing what you did for Noah.”

Emily honestly wants to say _hell no_ , but something pushes the words back. Maybe it’s the earnest hope in Kelley’s eyes, or the purse of her lips as she waits for her answer with bated breaths, or the way Kelley rolls part of her white coat in between her twiddling thumbs.

So instead, she shrugs offhandedly, like it’s _not_ a big deal. “If Tobin goes, then maybe.”

“I’ll go ask her and Chris,” Kelley answers with a small, grateful smile, that has Emily swallowing those two words.

_Hell no_ tastes almost like the bile that rises up at the back of her throat.

...

  


Tobin agrees, of course she does.

She even volunteers to call the restaurant—says she _knows_ the perfect place—and makes reservations for four at seven in the evening.

It’s just five minutes to six, and they’d have to leave at six thirty, which gives Emily some time to kill.

She spends it at the mini-park in the middle of the hospital, sipping orange juice in a box through a bendy straw—that she really wishes could just be the strongest form of alcohol right now.

She stays there, watching the people pass her by; people who have no idea that Doctor Kelley O’Hara is slotting herself back to the Kelley-shaped hole she left in her life.

...

  


She gets a message from Tobin a few minutes before six-thirty, which doesn’t seem ominous _at all_.

_So, something came up. Can you come to the ER floor?_

“What are you up to now?” Emily grumbles to no one. She pockets her phone, and then stands from the bench she’s been perched on, chucking the half-empty box into the nearest trash can.

...

  


She knows something is up, has a very, very deep inkling that Kelley is going to be involved, and she easily could say no. But it’s one of those moments where she can’t seem to stop anything from happening, like watching a car wreck right before her very eyes.

“It looks like Christen and I won’t be able to make it to dinner,” Tobin says with a sad smile, but Emily doesn’t even buy it one bit because she can see the mischief in her eyes.

“Why?” Kelley asks, tone almost whining.

“She has a surgery tomorrow, like, really early.”

Christen pulls back, throwing Tobin a puzzled look. “I do?”

“Yeah, remember?” The other woman stares at her, eyes widening in a way that’s saying _something._

Emily inwardly groans, because, really, they think they’re being subtle here but she can see past their lies.

“Oh, right. I do!” Christen says, catching on onto whatever Tobin is pulling. She forces out a laugh, though the hand she lays on Tobin’s arm is anything but. “Thank you for reminding me.”

Kelley sends a pointed look at the other women’s way, one that screams _what are you two doing?!_

“But you were my ride here,” Emily reasons; a last ditch effort.

Tobin holds a finger in the air to tell the younger woman to wait. She bends a little, fishing something from the right thigh pocket of her uniform pants. It jingles, and Emily can only assume it’s a set of keys.

“Here,” the captain says as she extends a hand. The jeep’s keys dangle from the silver multi-tool carabiner holding it together. “Christen and I will just take the train.”

“Tobin, are you sure?” It’s Kelley who asks—which, _thank God_ , because Emily’s throat is dry just from thinking about having to share a confined space with Kelley even for just a few minutes. “Christen’s apartment block is still a long walk away from the stop.”

“It’s fine.” Tobin nods earnestly, and makes a show of taking the cool air in. “It’s a nice night anyway.”

“You sound far too happy to be missing dinner with us,” Emily gripes from her spot.

“I do _not_ ,” the captain defends, quickly schooling her face to feign dejection. “I’ve been craving burgers for weeks now and I’m really sad that I’m going to miss it. But Christen needs to rest.”

Burgers and fries, Emily thinks, her friend made reservations to a place serving burgers and fries—which just so happened to be one of her favorites—like she’s buttering her up.

(God, if only disrespecting superiors wouldn’t cost her her rank and her job, she honestly would’ve clocked Tobin on the face by now.)

“I do,” Christen affirms, and even goes to force a yawn for effect. “I’m really tired.”

Kelley very much wants to protest at the obvious lie. Yet, she just nods gratefully, because Tobin shouldn’t even be wasting time to help her at least be in the same place with Emily and have her stay—she didn’t just leave Emily, she left Tobin too—but she’s not about to throw this chance to finally get to talk to the younger woman.

“You guys should probably go,” the captain urges. “It’s a little past six thirty already.”

“Fine,” Emily bites back, half of her already plotting ways to murder her friend; perhaps she can ask for Ashlyn’s help to hide the body.

(But maybe the picture she took of Tobin freezing when Christen slides her hand in hers and tugs her back inside the ER department—the other woman sort of just _shutting down_ the moment she feels Christen’s warm palm against hers, their fingers lacing together—is revenge enough.

Total blackmail material.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this took... a while, but i hope you guys enjoyed it!


	9. ix.

All that Doctor Christen Press wanted was a quiet shift, and _yet_ , she finds herself in one of those moments that seem to last forever, surrounded by hulking figures and their Glocks, her heart lodged at the back of her throat.

As her eyes dart around the imaging room, fleeting from the men blocking the sliding doors to the women dressed to the nines behind her, she still can’t quite believe that she actually _is_ standing in the middle of it all—right where two opposing forces are meeting at gunpoint.

Nor that her voice is steady and unwavering when she speaks, despite the tight grasp of their hands on the grips, and their trembling fingers shaking with the need to squeeze the trigger.

“We’re wasting time here. I _will_ save him, but I can’t do that without Doctor O’Hara’s help.”

...

 

 

**six hours ago**

“Hey, you.” 

Tobin’s beaming face greets her as soon as the call connects; but Christen doesn’t get the chance to greet the other woman back as Tobin holds her phone higher, so that the camera can capture her entire form in view. “How do I look?”

She’s in a suit: all black matched with a white dress shirt underneath the slick coat, and a narrow black tie to complete it. Her hair is neatly parted on one side, then gathered into a pristine tie at the back of her head; not one strand out of place.

There’s a white earpiece meticulously tucked in one of her ears, the coiled part molding itself on the space at the back of it.

She looks like the kind of gentleman Hollywood makes James Bond movies about, and it makes Christen go: 

“ _Oh_.” 

Christen hears her own breath hitch; and she’s _so_ glad that Tobin’s camera is far from its owner’s sight, enough for Tobin not to notice her swallowing thickly. “What’s—what’s with the formal outfit?”

Tobin’s side of the screen barely shakes as she brings her phone back down, closer to her face. “We’re playing bodyguards today.”

“That sounds safe, for a change.”

“It is,” Tobin agrees, though she mumbles an _I hope_ as an afterthought. “What do you think? Do I look threatening enough?”

She pulls her face into a comically stoic expression, that Christen’s pretty sure Tobin will never wear during an actual mission.

“You do have the jaw for it,” Christen says, chuckling. “But, not threatening enough.”

“Maybe I should put on an angry face.”

“Then you’d just look like a cute angry puppy,” Christen teases.

She’s expecting a scoff or any form of refute, but what Christen gets is a grinning Tobin, looking extremely pleased over _something_.

Christen’s eyebrows arch slowly, her eyes widening a few seconds after as her lips purse in question. “What _?_ ”

Tobin’s grin even widens, like it’s not dropping anytime soon, and her eyes glitter like a kid’s does when they get to the bottom of their cereal box and out slides a nice surprise. “You think I’m cute.”

“Wha—I  didn’t say that!” Christen says after the moment passes, unable to think of a comeback.

“You just did,” Tobin singsongs, tilting her head.

Christen pulls a face at the camera, hard that it sort of scrunches her nose and squishes her cheeks. “I didn’t!”

“It’s okay, Chris,” Tobin smirks, but it’s endearing and nowhere near smug at all that Christen’s finding it harder and harder to _not_ swoon. “I think you’re beautiful.”

 _Dang it, Tobin Heath_.

...

 

 

**three hours ago**

There’s a lightness in Kelley’s steps when she joins Christen for a late brunch. Though, it’s been there for days—Christen even dares say it started the night she and Emily went to dinner together but she doesn’t want to jinx it—like there’s a weight on her shoulders that’s been eased off somehow.

She smiles more lightheartedly now too, as if the edge that used to ghost her lips has been chased away.

But Christen doesn’t get to ask; she never really gets the time, what with being swamped with traumas and consults that left her plopping face down on her bed most nights.

Kelley lets out a satisfied noise as soon as she sinks in her usual chair, _finally_ getting the chance to rest her legs. She’s had back to back rounds and three consults as early as six in the morning, and this is her first break ever since.

“Remind me to never pick up someone else’s shift ever again,” Kelley says. She hooks two fingers on the tie that bundles her hair together, tugging it down to free the locks.

Christen finishes chewing on the forkful of egg before answering. “Who is it this time?”

Kelley opens her mouth to answer, but her eyes catch sight of a familiar face just leaving the cafeteria’s cashier queue.

She raises a hand and waves, which prompts Christen to look over her shoulder—and there may or may not be a split second where her heart jumps out of her chest at the thought that it might be Tobin; despite knowing that Tobin has some work to do today.

Her heart still does skip a few beats though, because it’s Ali talking on her phone (and every single one of them is just a wee bit in love with her).

Christen waves at her too, and she and Kelley both get in this sort of dreamy slump when Ali mumbles something on the speaker and smiles, waving back at them as she approaches their table.

“Hi Ali!”

“Hey, Kell,” Ali greets back, and then turns to Christen. “You too, Chris.”

Kelley’s about to ask if she wants to eat brunch with them, but Christen beats her to it. “Do you wanna have brunch with us?”

“I’d love to,” Ali says, though she already looks apologetic, which clues the two other doctors in that she can’t. “But I have a consult in twenty minutes, and my wife is having necktie troubles.”

Kelley’s enthusiasm visibly deflates, getting more evident when she just mumbles an _oh_ , then, “That’s okay.”

Ali can’t help but feel a little bit bad about that though, so she says, “How about tomorrow?”

Christen beams at the mere idea. “Definitely can do tomorrow.”

They settle on doing lunch just in case one of them gets stuck on something—the life of a surgeon is always unpredictable—and then Ali goes back to her phone as soon as she bids them goodbye and makes her way to the Cardio floor.

(They both catch the tail end of _that_ conversation as Ali walks away, her soft _Ash, babe, you need to send me a picture because I have no idea what a full windsor looks like_ sort of making them both melt on the inside.

See: a wee bit in love.)

“Anyway, it’s Hinkle,” the other doctor grumbles once Doctor Krieger has disappeared around the corner, spearing the potato with her fork hard as she hisses. “She said it was urgent.”

(Christen can _hear_ the quotes on that.)

“Ugh, I should’ve made her promise to buy me all my meals for the whole week!”

Christen pouts in sympathy, which makes Kelley pout more—they kind of have that effect on each other—and it only stops when Christen seems to magically produce a small ziplock bag full of chocolates out of thin air.

Fancy ones at that, the kind that comes with boxes Kelley usually only sees in commercials.

“We’ve been swamped for a few days straight now. I had a feeling today would be the same so I brought these,” Christen explains as she pushes the bag towards the other doctor, urging her to try one.

Kelley cracks an enthused smile, licking her lips twice. She rounds a finger above the transparent bag for a few times before stopping to point at a chocolate piece wrapped in white.

“Get in my belly,” she says—actually _coos_ at it—and then takes half of the chocolate at the first bite. “ _Fuck_ , that’s some good chocolate.”

There’s a moan, matched with the slow, delighted way Kelley chews on the confection, that makes Christen chuckle. “Should I leave you two?”

“And the entire bag, please,” Kelley quips. (But Christen knows she’s half serious because they are indeed some of the best chocolates in the city.) “Tobin really has good taste.”

Christen absentmindedly agrees as she cuts what’s left of her omelette into bite-sized pieces. “She does.” 

Though, her hand stills and the fork dangles stiffly in between her fingers right as the realization hits her.

When she looks up, Kelley is already grinning at her cheekily, and Kelley’s tongue is sticking out of the corner of her mouth. 

But Christen’s the more mature one here; and she refuses to be embarrassed despite the blush burning her cheeks. So she steels her face and stares back at Kelley as if she didn’t just blurt anything out.

Yet, the way she steers the conversation back to the other woman is pretty telling.

“How was dinner with Emily?”

Kelley stops chewing on her third piece of chocolate, her eyes slowly narrowing at the doctor sitting in front of her. Albeit, it’s in good nature, but it screams _I know what you’re doing_.

Christen simply grins at her to get out of it. “So?”

Kelley drops her hand, nimble fingers playing with one of the discarded wrappers, just so she’d have something to do. “Awkward.”

“That bad, huh?”

“No.” Kelley shakes her head. “It’s just—I was prepared for it to be messy. Like an honest to God screaming match. But it’s Emily, you know? She’s never been one for confrontations.”

“What happened?”

“We didn’t speak to each other the whole drive. And even when we got to the restaurant,” Kelley starts. “I tried asking about the easy stuff, like if she’s been there before or what food should I try but I barely got answers.”

Her face crumples, like she’s remembering how deafening the silence was despite sitting in the middle of a buzzing crowd.

“By the end of it, I just couldn’t stand one more second of silent treatment, so I told her to just go back to the base and I’ll just go home by myself.”

“And she didn’t let you.”

“Yeah,” Kelley affirms. “Then we kind of argued because it was starting to get to me, but she wouldn’t  let me go on my own either.”

Christen pushes her plate to the side and pulls her chair closer. She props an elbow on the table, cupping her chin with her palm. “And then what happened?”

“She said she was just tired,” Kelley continues. “So I told her again that she should just head straight to wherever she was going to stay. But she just got all quiet.”

( _All quiet_ , like all the fight she’s kept hold of ever since Kelley left just rushed out of her system in one breath, leaving her with nothing but the raw ache. 

Like picking off the scab from a fresh wound.)

“And then she… she—uhm, she asked me what I wanted from her.”

“What did you say?”

“A chance to explain myself. Two minutes of her time, and after that I’d go away and never bother her again.”

Christen straightens up, sliding her hand towards Kelley to cover Kelley’s own. She gives it a gentle squeeze, which pushes the other doctor to continue.

“She—she let me explain, but then she asked for space. Told me to give her some time to deal with the fact that it won’t be the last time we’d be seeing each other.”

Christen doesn’t ask what that means—though she has an inkling—because the one person she considers as her own sister just had what’s probably one of the most difficult nights and conversation of her life, and she just wants to hold Kelley until everything is fine.

So she says, “Kell, it’s gonna be okay.”

And they both choose to believe it.

...

 

 

**one hour ago**

Christen hooks the stethoscope around her neck as she crosses one more patient off her list. She’s right about being swamped today just like the other days, her Emergency Room floor filled with patients sick with flu and injured ones soaked to the bones.

The rain hasn’t let up for four days straight, but the number of accidents hasn’t dropped like the showers did either.

It even says so on the news, or at least that’s what Christen catches on the television mounted on the wall by the Nurses Station. The rain will continue for two more days, and Christen can only hope she isn’t dead on her feet by then.

The weatherman bids the viewers goodbye with his usual tagline, and the next thing that Christen hears is the anchorwoman recapping the headlines. Something about an impending oil price hike and the Prime Minister of West Angola about to give a speech for his visit.

Christen signs the discharge papers and hands it back to the nurse, leaving the Breaking News theme that just started playing in her wake.

...

 

 

**thirty minutes ago**

_911 Chief Naeher’s office_

Christen stares at the small screen of her pager, blinking at the flashing message. It doesn’t really change no matter how many times she closes and opens her eyes, which means—

It’s real.

She shoves the device back inside her pocket and runs to the closest _for patients only_ elevator, hitting five once she steps inside. 

Chief Alyssa Naeher’s office is at room 504, just left of the elevator rows, which she takes. Her door is already open when she gets there, though she still knocks out of courtesy.

The chief waves a hand, motioning for her to come in. “Please close the door, Doctor Press.”

“I got your page,” Christen explains by way of greeting, sitting at the chair that she points her at. “Did you need something, Chief?”

“Yes,” Chief Naeher answers upfront. She returns to her own chair behind the desk, props both her elbows on the surface—just near the edge—as she laces her fingers together. “I need your discretion.”

“Sorry?” Christen frowns, throwing her a quizzical look. “My discretion? May I ask what for?”

Chief Naeher untangles her hands and picks up the lone clipboard chart lying on her right. She passes it to Christen wordlessly, gesturing for her to open it when she only grows more confused and it shows on her face.

“Prime Minister Kelile Yeboah is currently inside OR two,” she begins to explain, though the shock already dawns on Christen’s face just from hearing the name. “He has been given first aid and is currently under heavy medication.”

“What happened, Chief?”

“He fainted while giving his speech,” she answers. Her face doesn’t give the graveness of the situation away, but her solemn voice is enough for Christen to figure it out. “It’s all in the charts. So I suggest you get up to speed while we’re on our way there.”

Christen flips the chart cover open, and then flips through the pages next, skimming the details written down.

“We suspect it’s his pacemaker failing,” Chief Naeher adds just as Christen reaches the initial diagnosis page and she sees the confused frown etch itself deeper on her forehead.

“But, this is a cardio case.”

“I know. But Doctor Krieger is currently doing another surgery, and you’re the best general surgeon I have.”

“But Chief I’m not—”

“Christen, I trust you. And I’ve already talked to Ali about this,” Chief Naeher insists, barely leaving her with any chance to refuse. “But I need your word that this will not get out.”

Christen very much wants to protest, yet the authority that she very rarely uses weaves through her tone and Christen knows that she _can’t_ say no. 

She fixes her gaze on her, looking at her expectantly; looking at her like the fate of one country rests in her hands.

Which, it does _now_ , doesn’t it?

She darts her tongue out, nervously licking her lips. She can’t quite meet her eyes when she nods, but, _still_ , it’s genuinely resolute. “Of course, Chief.”

“Thank you, Doctor Press,” Chief Naeher says as she gets up from her seat and rounds her desk, squeezing Christen’s shoulder in the process. “Come on. Let’s go save a life.”

...

 

 

**twenty two minutes ago**

There are two men in gray suits that welcome them as they reach the suite for OR two, their red ties sticking out like a sore thumb against the sterile white walls.

Two more men wearing the same suit greet them from behind the sliding glass doors. But the hallway leading towards their destination is almost empty, save for three women in black suits that reminds Christen of Tobin’s.

None of their hospital staff are present, no familiar face that usually filled the halls, and Christen feels the anxiety slowly sink in as they head further inside. It’s as if the hallway is turning into a pit that she doesn’t want to fall deeper into.

Her footsteps echo all over, bouncing heavy and full of uncertainty against the walls. Pressure makes her shoulders drop in each step—right: the self-doubt that’s starting to gnaw her from the inside; left: the tension she’s about to spew every time she glances down the chart she has clutched in her hands and the black, bold letters _scream_ PM KY at her.

(Maybe this is what Alice had felt then, when she fell, fell, fell down the dark, dark rabbit hole.)

The department’s surgery monitoring board lights up, her name a marquee right next to _OR 2_. And it’s the first time she’s ever had to read her name off of _that_ board and feel the bile rising up at the back of her throat.

It’s stymied by a lump that lodges itself right behind her tongue, swelling as she watches Chief Naeher wrap her fingers around the handle of one of the two doors separating her and what may or may not be one of the most crucial surgeries of her career.

“Are you ready, Doctor Press?”

Christen suddenly finds it hard to breathe, and for a moment, she wishes she can hear one of Tobin’s lame jokes, or Kelley’s laugh, just so she can shake the uneasiness that’s taking all her air away.

But she can’t, so she just swallows _everything_ back; squares her shoulders and says, “As I’ll ever be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would love to hear your thoughts on the chapter so hmu @ geekmythologys.tumblr.com


	10. x.

**seventeen minutes ago**

Chief Naeher pushing the door open brings about the sense of duty that Christen has long instilled in herself, becoming _Doctor Christen Press_ the moment she takes the first step inside the imaging room.

But she’s startled by a particular sight, and her steps halt completely as her breath hitches, because Tobin is here, _she’s here_ , and Christen feels like she can finally breathe again; like all the air rushes back in and fills her lungs.

Though, the captain doesn’t see her right away. Tobin’s gaze stays fixed on a particular spot on the opposite side of the room, despite the sound of the door swinging close.

Christen watches as Tobin cocks her head to the side, her jaw clenched humorlessly. It’s so far from the Tobin Christen usually sees; not a hint of Tobin’s bright smile nor a trace of playfulness that gleams in Tobin’s eyes. 

(Yet, it’s still a mesmerizing sight, seeing her stare at something—someone—down; stare like she’s gunning for a fight but she’s waiting for the enemy to throw the first strike at the same time.)

“Doctor Press, follow me please,” she hears Chief Naeher speak, but Christen’s feet grow a mind of their own, taking her towards Tobin’s direction.

(She’s not looking for a pep talk, _no_. She just wants something that isn’t related to what she’s about to do to pull her back and pin her _here_ ; someone to make sure that she’s not way in over her head.)

She passes by an unknown woman first, flanking Tobin’s left side. But the serious look on her face is stern enough that it warrants a second look; a third glance because she seems so familiar, though Christen can’t quite put a name to the face.

By this time, Tobin has caught her name, and has gotten a view of Christen at the corner of her eye. (Well, more like, caught her peering at Ashlyn with keen interest.)

Tobin scoffs, feigning disbelief. She clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and hisses, “Logan.”

Her voice snaps Christen back to attention. When she looks at the other woman, Tobin is breaking her intimidating facade to lean forward and squint her eyes at _Logan_.

 _Logan_ , though, doesn’t spare the captain a glance. She simply stares straight ahead.

Christen follows her gaze, finding another red-tied, hulking guy at the end of it. He’s about twice as _Logan’s_ size, buzzed-cut, with his lips quirked into what looks like a permanently mean curl, bordering into a snarl. But that fact doesn’t seem to bother the soldier at all.

The only indication that _Logan_ has acknowledged Tobin at all is when she lifts her left hand, flashing a rose gold ring (that Christen’s pretty sure she’s also seen hanging on the necklace that Ali wears while on her shift).

Then _Logan_ says _Princess_ , which coaxes out an amused smile from Tobin that she hides behind a fist.

Christen absolutely has no idea what that means. She supposes it’s military talk, so she hunches a shoulder in dismissal and stands in front of Tobin.

But before she can even say anything, she hears Chief Naeher call her name again. With a sigh, she twirls around, shuffling towards where her chief is—at the side of the big guys in suits. They seem to be guarding the second door that will lead to the operating table where she supposes the Prime Minister currently is.

“Agent Neblu,” she addresses the tallest of the three guards. “Please meet Doctor Christen Press. She will be—”

“Thank you, Chief Naeher. But the Prime Minister’s doctor is on his way here,” Agent Neblu interrupts rather crudely, not letting the chief finish.

Christen curbs the urge to bristle at the disrespect she just witnessed, and instead tries her best to explain. “I’m afraid we can’t wait that long without doing anything.” Though, she sounds a little stilted, which probably doesn’t really help with winning him over. “His pacemaker may be failing and we need to replace it with a brand new one.”

Agent Neblu slowly turns his head, looking down at the doctor and throwing her a stern, scathing look—one that Christen’s pretty sure is saying that her medical opinion doesn’t really matter to him. “The Prime Minister’s doctor is on his way. He has the pacemaker with him.”

“But at least let me remove the failing one.”

“No.”

And it takes Tobin’s—who’s watching the entire exchange closely— _everything_ not to storm towards them and smack him on his head.

...

 

 

**six minutes ago**

A loud blare coming from inside the operating room breaks the tension. Agent Neblu’s eyes widens as the sound rings in his ears, and Christen makes the split decision to squeeze through the tight space in between him and another prime minister guard, pushing the white door open.

She doesn’t really have the time to wash up as she rushes towards the operating table, eyes raking through the monitors to discern the cause of the alarm.

The Prime Minister’s blood pressure is dropping as it seems. Christen switches her gaze onto another monitor, its background blue, and showing a grey scale image of the Prime Minister’s chest.

She spots a growing dot inside one of the veins—a blood clot that has formed, blocking the circulation—and she really, _really_ needs to take that broken pacemaker out.

Christen snatches the bottle of alcohol sandwiched in between the various items lined on one of the sterilized trays, dousing both her hands and wiping them dry with a sterile blue towel before she snaps on a pair of rubber gloves in haste.  

She’s barking instructions to the nurse who’s already inside the room as she moves. “Page Doctor O’Hara, please!”

Her hands tear through a packet of syringe, grabs the lone one from the inside and uncaps it, and then sticks the needle on the skin right above the vein. Slowly, she pulls the plunger up, drawing the clot out.

The heart monitor stops beeping as the Prime Minister’s blood pressure rises back up. Though, Christen doesn’t release the breath she’s trapped in her own lungs until she has completely pulled the needle out.

She tosses the syringe on an empty tray and pulls her gloves off before storming outside. The sound of the door being pushed loudly startles his guards, but she pays them no mind, heading straight to Chief Naeher.

“We really need to take the pacemaker out. And I’m going to need Doctor O’Hara’s help for that.”

...

 

 

**four minutes ago**

Kelley comes down running not even two minutes after the page was sent. “Chris! What happened?”

But before Christen can even start to explain, Agent Neblu is leaving his spot, marching towards where they are currently huddled around.

His booming voice echoes in the small space as he demands for an answer. “What is she doing here?!”

Kelley, for her part, doesn’t cower under his towering form. Instead, she sends him an annoyed glare, because she’s faced the likes of him before countless of times and she disliked each encounter.

“Doctor O’Hara is here to assist me,” Christen bravely answers. Frankly, he’s starting to get on her nerves too, especially the way he keeps on throwing his weight around as if he’s in his territory.

“I thought I made it clear? We will wait for our doctor.”

“And I thought what just happened made it clear that we _can’t_.”

From her spot, Tobin and her squad wait on the sides, poised on their toes and ready to step in should the doctors need them to. But a proud smirk still tugs at Tobin’s lips, at the way Christen is holding her own against the agent.

The argument leads to a glaring contest, with Christen refusing to back down from Agent Neblu’s irate glares. She matches his stares with glowers of her own, tilting her head in the perfect angle that juts her chin out in a way that makes her feel like she’s winning.

In the end, she does. Agent Neblu surrenders with a grumbled _fine_ , because the doctor honestly has a very valid point. He looks over his shoulder, motioning for another guard to step forward with a jerk of his head.

He says a few things in his mother tongue. And although none of them understand, they all see the way the guard closes in on Kelley, his hand about to grab a body part into a frisk.

Emily, who’s standing on Tobin’s right, is on Kelley’s side in a flash—Tobin swears she just blinked and she’s already there—her hand catching his, and bending it by the wrist as she narrows her eyes at the guard.

“In America, we don’t frisk doctors we’ve vouched for, so you better watch it.”

There’s a split second where everyone inside the room just sort of freezes, but it doesn’t last long, not with Agent Neblu drawing his gun out.

From there, it’s like a domino of movements: 

Tobin and Ashlyn spring into action, treading the scant distance with their own guns raised, aiming them at each guard they’re standing opposite from. 

There’s a cacophony of _clicks_ —the sound of the safety catch being switched off—and Tobin is quick to push Christen behind her, covering Christen’s frame with hers.

But Emily doesn’t remove the hand keeping the guard’s own bent, doesn’t move her eyes away from his face—not even an inch.

The room plunges into a tense silence as muzzle meets muzzle, with no one daring to move. For a moment, the only thing Christen swears she hears is the sound of breaths, jagged and shallow, punctuated by the clenching of jaws and gritting of teeth. 

Even Chief Naeher is too stunned to speak, and there are beads forming on her forehead as she breaks into a sweat, which Christen doesn’t miss.

“Get back,” Agent Neblu orders, the threat in his tone ringing inside the entire imaging room. “I’m telling you for the last time.”

“Our orders are to protect the Prime Minister at all costs,” Tobin answers, tone surprisingly calm. But there’s a dead seriousness to it that Christen honestly hasn’t ever heard from her. “That includes the people who can help save his life. So either you let these doctors do their job, or we’d _let_ them for you.”

Agent Neblu cocks his head lightly, _goading_ and yet, careful in his own way. “I’d like to see you try.”

Tobin doesn’t take the bait. And his smirk morphs into a hard, unyielding look after the moment passes. It can only mean refusal, Tobin thinks, but she has also already expected things to come to this, judging by the very rigid protocols they have been enforcing from the beginning. 

So she addresses her team next, eyes not straying away from Agent Neblu’s face, her fingers gripping her glock more firmly. “From this point on, the safety of the medical team is our top priority too, understood?” She shuffles on her feet, until she’s sure that Christen is standing behind her completely, and doesn’t wait for any form of response before barking out her order. “Team, line up with gun point.”

Christen watches in muted horror as each member of Tobin’s squad moves to a spot that’s right in front of each of the Prime Minister’s guards, like pawns on a chess board vying for the other’s pieces. Each gun is aimed at one head, seemingly without any regard for their own lives, because the only thing that matters at this moment is their sworn duty no matter how vastly different those duties are.

“You have permission to fire at anyone who threatens their safety,” Tobin’s command continues.

“You better know what exactly you’re doing, Captain,” the agent says, trying to hide the surprise in his face, though he fails.

“Without a doubt. Doctor Press and Doctor O’hara _are_ going to save their patient,” Tobin states. “And I will protect what I have to.”

... 

 

 

But Christen has a life to save—and _lives_ she isn’t prepared to lose on this very floor—refusing to let a hulking six-foot man stop her from doing so.

She takes a deep, steady breath, and steps out from behind Tobin. But Tobin moves at the same time she does, maintaining the cover, so she lays a calming hand on the blade of Tobin’s stiff shoulder to let her know that it’s okay.

She anchors herself to the littlest contact at the same time—to the idea that Tobin is right next to her and she’s _not_ alone, then, speaks. “We’re wasting time here. I _will_ save him, but I can’t do that without Doctor O’Hara’s help.”

...

 

 

Tobin chances a glance at Christen, the corner of her lips quirking into another proud smirk when she hears the conviction in Christen’s voice. 

(It’s one of the many things she’s effortlessly learned to love about Christen; her steadfast courage and unwavering passion for the oath she has taken.)

Agent Neblu’s jaw clenches with indecision, though his hand remains raised and aimed at the captain. 

But he barks a low command in his native tongue in the end. Tobin supposes it means to stand down as he and the other guards ease up and draws their arms back, stuffing their guns back to their holsters.

“Thank you,” Christen says, surreptitiously breathing out relief. She turns to Emily next. “Emily, you can let go now.”

Yet, Emily doesn’t move at first, at least not until she hears Kelley say, “Em, it’s okay.”

It’s another tense second before she gives a small nod of acknowledgement. Emily drops—more like throws—the hand she’s holding, lets _hers_ hover in the air, fingers splayed open and palm showing.

It’s matched with the curling of her lip as she walks backwards to her spot, her eyes daring the guard to do it again.

Tobin, for her part, tucks her gun back into the holster she’s wearing underneath her black coat. Ashlyn does the same, then, they both follow their Second Lieutenant, and return to their own previous posts.

“Well that was something,” Tobin mumbles, her mouth barely moving. “Now I can’t remember why your call sign is Footloose. We should’ve named you _Wolverine_ or something.”

“They should know better than to test me,” Emily mutters back, her gaze following Kelley’s every move, searching for any hint that she was rattled by the guard.

She sees nothing but the resolute look on Kelley’s face as Christen brings her up to speed with the case, not even when she passes by the guards as she heads inside the operating room.

Emily doesn’t remove her gaze until Kelley’s back disappears completely from her sight. And when the doctor does, Emily fixes her tie, tilts her head a little and glares at _that_ guard like she’d _claw_ his face off at any given second.

...

 

 

On her way to follow Kelley, Christen gets pulled into a corner. When she looks, it’s Tobin (and she’s breaking their formation _again_ and Christen’s starting to wonder how high up in command Tobin really is to be able to do it so freely).

But the room doesn’t have that much big of a space to start with, so they still end up standing a little close to Ashlyn.

“Hey,” Tobin says, softly. _Softly_ , like she’s the one who was scared for Christen’s safety during those long seconds where the tension was high and the situation was not completely in her hands. “Are you okay? That was really brave of you.”

Christen doesn’t really mean to, but her cheeks heat up so much that she has to look down. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” the captain repeats. “I bet he’s shaking in his boots.”

Christen sneaks a glance at Agent Neblu, chewing on her bottom lip as she drags her eyes back to the other woman. “He’s wearing Italian leather shoes, Tobs.”

Beside them, Ashlyn chokes out a laugh into her fist, disguising it as a cough.

Tobin, in turn, chuckles lowly, crinkling her nose at the doctor. And it’s only then that her heart stops constricting on the spot, letting her breathe freely. “You’re definitely okay.” 

She snatches the scrub cap sticking out of the back pocket of Christen’s scrub pants and dons it on the doctor’s head, gently tugging it down until it’s flat on Christen’s head, and pushes wayward locks of hair underneath.

Christen makes like, twelve different silly faces—some cupping her palm against her cheek as she bats her eyelashes; others sucking at the inside of her cheeks and quirking the pursed lips—trying to get Tobin to laugh as she fixes her scrub cap. But Tobin knows she’s still on a mission here, and that she needs to keep her intimidating facade intact, so she doesn’t.

(It was hard, _really_ hard, because Christen’s made ridiculous faces and she was so cute; Tobin honestly has no idea where she pulled the strength to keep it together.)

She does give Christen’s nose a fond pinch with her knuckles though—because Tobin is just human and not a saint—before sending Christen off to where she needs to be. “Go kick Neblu’s ass on your way, please.”

Christen answers with a playful salute, and an _aye, aye captain_ over her whimsical smile.

“Go,” Tobin says with a light laugh.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Christen replies. But she doesn’t move right away. Instead there’s a look that settles on her face that Tobin can’t quite read, like she wants to say something but doesn’t really know how to start.

Though, before Tobin can ask what it is, Christen’s already turning to leave.

Tobin can only follow her with her gaze, her eyes never leaving the doctor as she watches Christen go get last minute instructions from a now composed Chief Naeher, and even when she disappears behind the operating room door.

...

 

 

There’s a tense air around the OR from the moment Christen steps inside; the pressure making its presence once again known as it weighs itself down on Christen’s shoulders.

It only gets broken when Christen’s mobile phone buzzes a good ten minutes after they started, and their nurse, Lindsey, tells her that Doctor Krieger is calling.

Hearing Ali’s name feels like taking a breather, so Christen nods her _go ahead_ at Nurse Horan, who then taps a gloved finger on the screen and puts the call on speaker.

Hearing Ali’s voice feels like relief as it echoes all over the room when she speaks. “ _Doctor Press?_ ”

“Yes, Doctor Krieger?”

“ _I heard you needed some support_ ,” Ali says, warm and completely enheartening. (Christen’s sure everyone in the room can just picture her smile.)

Though, Christen still gets a confused frown on her face because they’re doing different surgeries at this moment, so she has no idea what kind of support Ali means.

At least until Kelley says, “This is the first time you’re doing this. You need an experienced surgeon to talk to, so I asked Ali to call.” 

“I—” 

“You can’t say no.”

“I’m not,” Christen states. And though half of her face is covered by the surgical mask, Kelley can tell that she’s smiling, from the crescents that shape her eyes. “Thank you, Kell.”

Kelley’s own pair turn into gleeful slits, and Christen doesn’t have to see it to picture the grin that matches it. 

Then, Kelley says, “Doctor Krieger, she’s ready.”

“ _Good. Now, Doctor Press, we’ll do it together, okay? Walk me through it_.”

...

 

 

The surgery goes smoothly, but the Prime Minister has to be put under a medically induced coma to force his heart to beat at the safest pace.

When it’s all over and done with, Christen closes him up and lets Nurse Horan clean up behind her, while she steps out of the operating room with Kelley on her heels.

She’s glaring sharply at Agent Neblu as she passes the guards by, who is staring right back with a scowl on his face (that Christen thinks will be imprinted permanently since he’s been like that the whole day).

She tries really, _really_ hard to sound kind when she informs him of the Prime Minister’s condition, and that all they can really do for now is wait until the new pacemaker arrives. But he leaves the room to call _their_ doctor for confirmation without so much as a _thank you_ , and Christen can’t help but huff and pull a face at his retreating back.

The face sticks even when she hears Tobin’s chuckles (that grow louder as she draws closer).

“He does rude so perfectly.”

“Don’t mind him,” Tobin says, waving a hand off. “We all knew it would go well.”

“For a moment, I thought it wasn’t going to,” Christen admits rather bravely. Tobin hears the raw fear in her tone, muted but still present. “But Kelley was there, and Ali too.”

“What’s important is that he’s okay now,” soothes the other woman. “How about you? How are you feeling?”

Christen blinks at her in confusion. “Me?”

“I never really got to ask you earlier, but,” Tobin starts to say, then, “you weren’t scared of what happened right? Guns and all.”

“Honestly? I was, a little. But I had a job to do. There wasn’t really any room to think about what I was feeling.”

“But it’s over now. So it’s okay to let it out and be scared again.”

Christen stares at Tobin wordlessly as she studies the distress written all over Tobin’s face. Her eyes soften at the sight of the genuine worry that anchors Tobin’s furrowed brow, and the concern she hears in her voice, rolling off in waves.

“I’m here, okay?” Tobin continues to speak. Her hand hovers near Christen’s own, fingers flexing as she wrestles with the indecision and the need to reach out and twine their hands together. “If you’re scared, I’m here.”

In the end, Christen makes the decision for her. “I’m not,” she says after a few beats, stepping closer— _closer_ that the tips of their shoes kiss, and the tips of their noses almost bumping.

Christen nudges Tobin’s nose with hers once, before encircling her arms around Tobin’s waist as she rests her chin on Tobin’s shoulder. 

But what lets the butterflies loose in Tobin’s stomach is the breath she feels tickling her skin, when Christen folds in on herself, tucks her face at the crook of her neck, and whispers:

“Not anymore.”

Because really, all Christen needs is Tobin and the warmth that her presence gives her, and Christen knows she’ll never feel scared ever again.

...

 

 

Kelley watches them with a fond smile as she walks further inside the imaging room, her eyes shining with so much warmth as she watches her friend be encased in the arms of the woman Christen may or may not be falling halfway in love with.

She only shuffles forward to say hi when Christen pulls away, and asks as she reaches them, “Are you going to stay here the whole day, Tobs?”

Tobin shakes her head. “We’re just waiting for the new orders to come down.”

“Are you allowed to take breaks?” It’s Christen who asks this time. “Or do you have to stand guard all the time? It’s been hours.”

“We are. But not at the same time. At least one of us has to stay here.”

Christen can’t help but pout at that piece of information, since she’s been planning to ask the other woman to accompany her to the cafeteria.

Just then, Emily’s voice floats from the side of the room. “I’ll do it. I’ll stay here. Logan, you should go see Princess too. Janice and Reign can switch with you two.”

“No, it’s okay,” Christen tries to protest. But Emily simply smiles at her.

Though, she’s smirking at Tobin when she says, “It’s fine, _Calliope_.”

“Calliope?”

“It’s nothing,” Tobin quickly brushes off, but the redness that colors the tips of her ears tells Christen that it’s definitely _something_.

“Nothing, huh?” Christen smirks cheekily. She taps the tip of Tobin’s nose with a finger, then says, “I’ll get it out of you one day.”

Tobin gulps, and Emily honestly finds it a miracle that she doesn’t faint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took a while! but i hope you guys like it!


End file.
